


The Tapestry Series 1: Weft

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:26:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atTER/MAand was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onthe TER/MA collection profile.These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this. This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is not your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??) Feedback is very much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :) First in the Tapestry Series. For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason. More to come...
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder
Kudos: 1
Collections: TER/MA





	1. Endings

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this. This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is not your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??) Feedback is very much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :) First in the Tapestry Series. For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason. More to come...

  
**Weft - Endings  
by Amirin**

  
That goddamned voice of his does it to me every time. I was looking at Kersh through a haze of blood and rage, had the bastard in my gun sights, even, and what happens? Yeah, Alex-fucking-Krycek. So soft, his traitor's voice. 

"Mulder, don't do it. Put the gun down. Come on, Mulder. _Think_ about this, dammit! Your gun, your bullet... can you say 'ballistics'? Huh, can you?" 

"Yeah, I can 'ballistics', you son-of-a-bitch! Want me to say it in _Russian_?" 

I could hear his sigh, but I couldn't see him. I didn't think he had a gun trained on me, or he would have threatened me with it, already. And I knew he could hear me, too. Oh, hell, yes. He could hear every shaking word, the tears in my voice. All of it. God, I wished my peripheral vision was a bit better. Then I could have seen not only Kersh, but Scully's body on the floor. I wondered if I'd be able to tell which shade of gray was her hair and which was her blood? 

"Mulder, please. Put the damned gun down. Don't do this. You're not a killer. You don't want to be like them." 

He actually said _please_? Fuck that. 

"But you're such a good influence, Krycek. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I want to grow up to be just like _you_?" 

Silence met that remark and I heard him moving behind me and, fool that I was, took my eyes off Kersh for a split-second. And saw a look of bitter hurt on Krycek's face right before his eyes widened and focused on something behind me and then I was knocked to the floor before I could turn around completely and Kersh was going for a gun, only to have Krycek draw first and all I could think about was the wild west, High Noon, and didn't honestly know who I was rooting for in the contest to see who was the fastest gun in D.C. Shoulda known. Krycek was. 

Kersh took three in the chest which sent him backward, slamming his body into the concrete support behind him before he slowly slid down to the floor of the warehouse. I was waiting for the streak of blood on the pillar, like they always have in the movies, but this wasn't fiction, this was reality, and Krycek had just killed a man, my AD, right in front of me. And Scully was still dead. Spontaneous reanimation only happens in the movies, too. 

"Nice shootin', Tex," I murmured, before crawling over to where Scully lay. "Christ, this is all my fault." 

"No, Mulder, it isn't. This time, it's _my_ fault." 

I snorted. I couldn't help it. 

"Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to let you be the one responsible for getting my partner killed, Krycek. But I did this. Not you." 

I wondered if I sounded as hysterical as I felt. Probably. 

"The message you got that sent you haring off to Philadelphia came from me, Mulder. I did it on purpose, to get you the hell out of the way. I knew what they were planning. _I_ was going to meet him, alone. And finish this," a heavy sigh and he went on. "I figured you and Scully'd go to Philly together. I didn't figure you'd go off on your own and I didn't figure Scully would follow through on this and check out Kersh's set up by herself. I should've known. It's _my_ fault. Don't blame yourself for this one. Unless, of course, you get off on playing the martyr." 

My eyes whipped up to his and I knew what he was trying to do and, god help me, I almost fell for it, anyway. My hand was going for my cell phone when Krycek's caught it. 

"Don't," an urgent whisper as gloved fingers clutched mine. "You were never here, Mulder. Got that? You're still in Philadelphia, doing god only knows what, okay? Let _me_ call Skinner." 

"Knock it the hell off, Krycek. I'm not letting you..." 

His arm was across my throat before I could breathe. 

"Shut the fuck up, Mulder. Just shut the fuck up. Kersh killed Scully, I killed him. You don't _need_ to be here. This was just another day, for me, you hear what I'm saying? Another day, another stiff, right? No big deal. You don't need the inquiry. They'll use this as an excuse to take your badge, dammit. Don't let them." 

I shoved him away from me, rubbing my neck with a shaking hand. "Why the hell are you so hot to protect me, huh? You want to explain this to me? If you call Skinner, he'll think you killed _both_ of them." 

"So the hell what, Mulder? I don't give a rat's ass what he thinks. I know _you_ know better. And that's all that matters, all right? You know I didn't kill Scully. You know I tried to save you both. You know I screwed up. Badly. What Bald Mountain thinks doesn't mean _shit_ , as far as I'm concerned. Now, get the fuck out of here. Go be an FBI agent somewhere else." 

"I can't leave Scully." That came out quietly. Maybe too quietly. And then those should-be-green-but-look-grey-to- me eyes were heavy with something that almost looked like sympathy. 

"I'll stay with Scully, til Skinner gets here. I promise. I won't leave her until she's safely in his hands. Okay? My word on it, Mulder, if it's worth anything to you. If I break it, you can shoot me." 

"Tempting, Krycek. Very tempting." 

The words were too soft to be as obnoxious as I needed them to be. Shit, I hate it when he's right. Whoever Kersh was working for, they wanted me and Scully dead. They got half their wish. And _no_ one will believe this particular truth. Hell, I'm a believing kind of guy and _I_ wouldn't buy this story. If they run me out of the bureau, I'm screwed. If they press charges for murder, I'm even more screwed. But, if I let Krycek do this, I'll owe him. I hate that. I really hate that. 

He saw the answer on my face, but didn't say a word. Only nodded and jerked his head back toward the cars. "Get the fuck out of here. Go back to Philadelphia. Drive _carefully_. Don't touch your plastic; cash only until you get there. Lose your cell phone somewhere permanent. Leave an abject apology on Scully's answering machine for ditching her. Use a public pay phone. And your calling card. Tell her your source didn't pan out. Promise her you'll make it up to her with Ben and Jerry's and Starbucks for the next month." 

I nodded numbly as the litany of instructions continued to pour over me. Damn him, he'd thought of everything. I started when his hand closed over my shoulder. 

"Don't think, Mulder. Let me do the thinking, okay? Just go. I'll be in touch." 

Now, that alone should have scared the hell out of me, but it didn't. Perversely soothing, actually. 

I headed out to the car and turned in the doorway to see him taking off his jacket, the leather reflecting with a dull sheen in the faint light of the warehouse, and placing it gently over Scully before he dug out his own cell. Things got blurry as I stumbled to the car and started it up, backing out the way I came for a while before I hit the headlights on. 

Don't think, Mulder. 

Just go. 

It wasn't until I saw the signs for Philly that I finally noticed the tears on my face. 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)  
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
First in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>  
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.  
More to come...   
Weft - Endings by Amirin [email removed] #114   
---


	2. Beginnings

  
**Weft - Beginnings  
by Amirin**

  
It's only been three days and I'm already losing my mind. 

It's almost ten in the morning and I'm still in bed. 

I can't remember the last time I ate. 

I haven't left my apartment since I went to the Hoover the day after Scully's funeral and told Skinner that I was taking all the vacation time I had coming, plus the Bereavement Leave. Nineteen weeks. 

Nineteen fucking weeks coming and I can't get out of bed. 

Krycek kept his word. Skinner told me. He heard a door slam when he entered the warehouse, found Kersh first, then found Scully, still under the leather jacket, which he gave to me for some unfathomable reason. Krycek called his cell phone as he made his escape and told him what had happened. How I was in Philly and Scully had fallen into Kersh's trap all by herself. How Kersh had killed Scully. How he'd killed Kersh. How he didn't give a damn if Skinner believed him or not, which Skinner did, oddly enough. 

Krycek never mentioned I was there. Covered for me. 

I left enough of a paper trail in Philly to place me far away from the scene. No questions. 

Skinner was so careful when he told me Scully was dead. Shit. Kept stressing that it wasn't my fault. Krycek took the heat for it. Even told Skinner he felt badly that he couldn't save us both. Just a little too late. 

Told Skinner that Kersh needed killing. Badly. 

Skinner agreed. 

If it isn't guilt weighing so heavily on me that I can't get out of bed, then what is it? And what the hell am I supposed to do for the next eighteen weeks, three days and... eleven hours? 

And do I really want to bother answering my cell? Shit, if it's Skinner checking up on me and I don't answer, he'll be over here before I can make the place look like I haven't spent the last three days in bed. 

Fuck. 

"Mulder." 

"I woke you?" 

Krycek. Shit. "No." 

"I can't believe this. It's ten AM, and I woke you." 

"I'm awake. I'm just not up yet. And what the fuck do you want?" 

"How fast can you get to St. Louis?" 

"What's in St. Louis?" 

"Besides me?" 

"I'm hanging up." 

"Don't. Wait. Shit. Mulder, you need to come to St. Louis." 

"I'm on vacation." 

"Yeah, and leave. Nineteen weeks. I know." 

"How the fuck do you know?" 

"Mulder." 

"I'm hanging up." 

"You keep saying that. Listen to me. Just listen. You're losing it and it's only been three days. What are you going to be like in eighteen and a half weeks, huh? Get your ass on a plane and come to St. Louis. There's something here you've got to see." 

"Aside from the Cardinals?" 

"I don't believe this. I'm talking x-file and he's talking baseball." 

"I say tomato, you say tomahto." 

"I have _never_ said tomahto." 

"Barbarian." 

"Come to St. Louis. Or I'll come after you and drag your feeling-sorry-for-yourself ass back here and I will not be in a good mood, Mulder. I'm warning you." 

"I've got your jacket. Skinner gave it to me." 

"Bring it with you. I can steal it back when I break into your hotel room." 

"Gee, that's so nice." 

"Anything to make you feel at home, Mulder." 

"Fuck you." 

"Get your ass to St. Louis. Your flight leaves in an hour and forty. USAir. Be on it. You'll be met at the airport." 

"I'm traveling under my own name?" 

"Yes. I didn't have time to get a fake ID for you." 

"You don't bring me flowers anymore." 

"Mulder. Your plane lands at 1:20 local time. If you aren't on it, I _will_ come after you. Don't make me do that." 

"Fine." 

"You're coming?" 

"I said fine." 

"Bring the jacket." 

"Right. Just to give you an excuse to break into my hotel room." 

"Like I need an excuse." 

"You need the practice. You haven't broken into my apartment in weeks." 

"What, you think I'm losing my touch? Fine, I'll make a note of it. 'Break into Mulder's apartment'. Is Thursday good for you?" 

"Asshole." 

"Hey, I'm writing it _in ink_. What the fuck do you want?" 

"I'm in ink?" 

"You're in ink." 

"Wow. I feel so special." 

"Asshole. Get out of bed, for Christ's sake." 

"And come to St. Louis." 

"You've heard this song before." 

"I could hum a few bars." 

"I'm hanging up." 

Shit. 

Okay. Up, get dressed, pack, call a cab, go to the airport, pick up my ticket at USAir, and go to fucking St. Louis. Why was I doing this? 

I spent most of the flight wondering why. Why Krycek had booked me in first class. Why the car he'd hired to take me from the airport to the hotel was a fucking limo. With a bar. Fully stocked. 

I spent the ride to the hotel staring out the window, looking at the scenery. Wondering when he'd get in touch. And how. 

Shit. The cell. He's a fucking mind-reader. 

"Mulder." 

"Tell me you're in St. Louis." 

"I'm in St. Louis." 

"Where are you?" 

"Pulling up to the hotel. Christ, I'm staying at the Hilton?" 

"Enjoy it." 

"Where are you?" 

"Somewhere else." 

"That's specific." 

"There's a package for you at the desk. Look it over. I'll call you when you need to move." 

"Krycek?" 

"Yeah." 

"Why are you doing this?" 

"All in good time, Mulder. Pig out on the room service. Watch the alcohol. It's all covered." 

"Pay per view?" 

"Playboy channel." 

"Oh, you know what I like." 

"I'm hanging up." 

According to the desk clerk, my reservation was for a suite. It's bigger than my apartment. It's got a card key. I'd like to see Krycek break into this. 

I tossed the envelope on the king-sized bed as I came in. Then checked the rooms out, looked at the view, gaped at the size of the shower. 

The menu for room service was right by the phone and I found I was suddenly starving. One of everything sounded good, but I held back. I ripped open the envelope waiting for the food to arrive. A set of keys to a car in the hotel parking garage. A map of some buildings near a set of train tracks. A list of what I could expect to find there. Shit. Enough fire power to stage a small coup. Explosives. Chemicals. This was nasty shit, but I couldn't see the x-file. Yet. I shrugged and opened the small envelope. A ticket for the Cards season opener. Right behind the dugout. Great seat. Krycek was sending me to a baseball game. 

Son of a bitch. It _was_ an x-file. 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Second in the Tapestry Series. You might want to read 'Endings' first, just so we're all on the same page, here.   
Previous stories can be found at:  
[ http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html](http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html)   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Beginnings by Amirin [email removed] #115 OD-536 - commit eda91fa - 2020-07-03   
---


	3. Sunrise

Go to notes and disclaimers

  
**Weft - Sunrise  
by Amirin**

  
The bust went down perfectly. 

I got in touch with the St. Louis FBI and told them it had been a tip from an anonymous source, then basically backed off and let them handle it. They were nice enough to let me go along. Even partnered me with a couple of good agents. Knew their shit and kept their opinions about my rep to themselves. 

I'd missed the adrenaline rush. I didn't realize how much. It felt good. Alive. Which, I'm guessing, was the point. 

I really didn't think I needed to be there. But the local office had all but insisted I be part of the operation because Skinner had called them and all but insisted I be part of the operation because Krycek had called _him_ and all but insisted I be part of the operation. 

Did I mention that Skinner is once again my boss? Not that I mind, or anything. I always knew where I stood, with him. Most of the time. Now, more so than ever. Apparently he and Krycek are both in on this, whatever 'this' is. Krycek's still obviously well-connected. And the guy's got enough dirt on enough people in the Hoover to bury it up to the sixth floor. 

I don't know what the hell's going on. I wish I knew what else Krycek told Skinner. I wish I knew what he said to make Skinner believe him when he told him I had to be in the middle of the wrap-up. I wish I knew how to get a hold of Krycek to... thank him? Shit. Another x-file. 

I wish Scully had been there, to see me play nice with the local talent. She'd have been so pleased. Might even have taken me for a heart attack on a blue plate special afterward. 

I miss her. So much. I kept looking for her all through the bust. Kept making notes of things to tell her. Still, though, I feel... not quite as god-awful. I guess it's an improvement. 

I got back to the hotel late after the paperwork was done and the ends, tied up. Eleven, I think. Near there. Crashed almost immediately. Didn't wake up til room service knocked on the door with a breakfast I didn't order. Courtesy of Krycek. Including the morning paper. With the story about the bust highlighted in day glow green. The 'timely involvement of D.C. agent Fox Mulder was crucial to the success of the operation' part made me grin. Think I'll save it for my scrapbook. 

I spent the rest of the day playing tourist til it was time for the game. It felt almost normal. I can't remember the last time anything felt almost normal. I kept expecting to see Krycek or feel someone watching me, catch a tail in the rear view. Something. 

Never happened. So be it. 

Drove straight to the hotel when the game was over. Traffic wasn't horrendous. At least, compared to D.C. Had a late dinner, to top off the hot dogs. And noticed Krycek's jacket was gone. How he got in here, I don't have a fucking clue. He left a note on the hanger, telling me to stay put until he called. Pissed me off, just a little, but I figured I didn't have anything better to do and things had gone pretty well for me so far. And when was the last time I got to stay in the Hilton, for Christ's sake? 

I went to bed, looking forward to sleeping in. Shoulda known, really. The cell rang at two in the fucking morning. 

"Mulder." 

"Okay, now I woke you." 

"Congratulations. You're too fucking awake for this time of the morning." 

"Grouchy, grouchy. And it's not that time of the morning where I am. How was the game?" 

"You didn't hear? Cards lost." 

"Ah, but it isn't whether you win or lose..." 

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'it's how you play the game', I'm hanging up." 

"Busted. Speaking of, that went down well." 

"And the paper even spelled my name right." 

"Will wonders never cease." 

"Now what?" 

"What makes you think there _is_ a 'what'?" 

"I'm psychic that way." 

"You're hilarious. How do you feel about Maine?" 

"I'm going to Maine?" 

"Yup." 

"When does my flight leave?" 

"One hour. But, you're landing in Vermont. Rental car will be waiting. Time is of the essence." 

"When do I have to get there?" 

"At 6:27 AM." 

"That's pretty damned precise." 

"This is a precision operation. Directions will be waiting for you at the rental office. Car's reserved under Holmes." 

"Please, not Sherlock." 

"Oliver, actually." 

"Anything else, Stanley?" 

"Your plane ticket is downstairs at the front desk and the limo's parked outside. Leave your rental keys with the driver." 

"Jesus, you're organized." 

"One of my many talents. And you're going to miss your flight if you don't get your ass in gear." 

"All right, shit. I'm on my way." 

Packing didn't take long. Neither did dressing and getting down to the limo, ticket in hand. At two-sixteen in the morning. I was insane. 

And spent another flight wondering why I was jumping through all these fucking hoops on Krycek's say-so. 'Because you're enjoying it, you moron' seemed to be the answer. _An_ answer. Whatever. It beat eighteen weeks of bedsores. 

There was another cell phone in the small box with the instructions.Following his advice, I pitched the old one out the car window before I left the state. Any calls I got from here on out would be from him. I thought I could deal with it; no problem. But, I had to stop myself from entering Scully's number as speed dial one. 

The drive from Vermont to Maine was dead quiet. Krycek's directions were exact to the tenths of miles, for crying out loud. I guess attention to detail is imperative in his line of work. His line of work? Listen to me. Like I'm talking about a man who sells insurance for a living. Shit... 

I quit the internal bitch fest when I pulled up to the lighthouse. From there it was on foot, less than three miles down the beach and I had about a half an hour to get there to see whatever or whomever I was supposed to see. That must have been why Krycek also included the Nikes in the box that had the directions in it. Jesus. 

I warmed up fast and got moving, bringing along the cell and my gun. The adrenaline was kicking in again. And when the runner's high got added to the mix, I was feeling pretty damned good. For the first time in too fucking long. I made a mental note to start jogging again when I got home. I needed this. 

I made it to the rendezvous point with minutes to spare and walked around, cooling off, keeping an eye out for... whatever. The beach was deserted, which I guess made it ideal for... whatever. 

Moments passed and I started getting a little antsy. I hate waiting for anything, not being the most patient person in the world. About the time I started pacing, my cell rang. How did I know? 

"Mulder." 

"You made it." 

"Is that a question or a statement?" 

"A hope." 

"I made it." 

"Good." 

"Why am I here?" 

"What do you see?" 

"Not a damned thing." 

"Wrong answer, try again." 

"Krycek, there's nothing here." 

"You're standing in an empty void?" 

"Why the fuck am I here, dammit?" 

"What do you _see_?" 

"Sand! All right? I see sand." 

"And? What else?" 

"Rocks. And water." 

"Colors, Mulder. What colors do you see?" 

"The water's grey. The sand's... lighter grey. The rocks are darker grey. Lots of grey, Alex. Lots and lots of grey." 

"Big surprise, the world's not black and white, after all. Look up, Fox." 

"Don't call me Fox. And what am I looking for? A ship?" 

"You called me Alex; I get to call you Fox. What do you see?" 

"Nothing much, really. It's too light to see stars, except for a couple of planets on the horizon. Which is getting lighter. And I did not call you Alex." 

"Yes, you did. Lighter what?" 

"No, I didn't. Lighter blue. Mostly. Some purple." 

"Yes, you did. Sounds nice." 

"Fine, whatever. It is nice. Why am I here?" 

"You're looking at it." 

" _What_? You've got to be _kidding_ me. You woke me up at two in the morning, bought me a plane ticket, rented a car for me, just to get my ass to Maine in time to watch the fucking sun rise over the Atlantic?" 

"You forgot the Nikes." 

"And the Nikes." 

"Do you like them?" 

"Krycek..." 

"Oh, back to Krycek, again. What's the matter? Don't they fit?" 

"Asshole, they fit fine. Shit, all this for a _sunrise_?" 

"Look at that sunrise, Fox." 

"Don't call me Fox. And I am looking at it." 

"I like calling you Fox. And wasn't it worth it?" 

"To have you call me Fox? No!" 

"The sunrise, asshole. The plane ticket, the car, the Nikes. Look at that sunrise and tell me it wasn't worth it. When's the last time you watched the sun come up on a clean, perfectly empty, gorgeous stretch of beach?" 

"I... can't remember." 

"Then it's been too fucking long." 

"Okay." 

"Okay?" 

"Yeah, okay. All right, already. It's worth it." 

"Hallelujah, he has seen the light." 

"The sun's not up yet, Alex." 

"Smartass. But it's getting there, isn't it?" 

"Yeah. It's getting there. Damn. It's beautiful. Really, really beautiful." 

"Good. I'm glad. Makes me wish I was there." 

"Where the hell are you, anyway?" 

"Somewhere else." 

"Shit, I knew you were going to say that." 

"I'm predictable, already? Oh, the romance is gone." 

"That's it. I'm hanging up." 

"Don't. Please." 

"What?" 

"See it for me." 

"What?" 

"The sunrise. See it for me. Out loud." 

"When's the last time _you_ saw the sun rise, Alex?" 

"Too long, Fox. Way too fucking long." 

"Fine. Whatever. You comfortable?" 

"Yeah. Go for it." 

"This could take a while." 

"I've got the time. And so do you..." 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash.If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)  
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Third in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>  
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.  
More to come...   
Weft - Sunrise by Amirin [email removed] #116   
---


	4. Sunset

  
**Weft - Sunset  
by Amirin**

  
Alex reserved a room for me under yet another name in a nice bed and breakfast about three miles inland from the beach. Said it was perfect jogging distance in the note I found on the nightstand. One step ahead of me. So what else is new. 

I had breakfast at the inn. It was ready for me the instant I showed up, along with another set of instructions. Three hundred dollars in small bills. And a leather jacket just like Alex's. It wasn't his. I checked. No hidden zipper in the left sleeve to accommodate the prosthesis. 

I spent the day on foot, breaking in the new Nikes that fit like someone had made them from casts of my feet, they were so exactly the right size. Even down to the fact that my left foot is half a size larger than my right. And he knew that. I don't even want to think about how he knew that. 

The day was wonderful. I hit the places Alex suggested I hit, ate at the restaurants he recommended I eat at, and saw the sights he asked me to see for him, so I could tell him about them later. Don't ask me why I just went along with it all. I haven't got a fucking clue. 

I even bought some clothes at the stores he preferred, since I hadn't packed for this many days, originally. I trusted the clerks to make sure nothing clashed. Paid cash for everything. Didn't touch my plastic, as per his instructions. Again. 

Anyway, the weather was cool, the sun warm, and it felt so damned good. I spent some time jogging up and down the beach in the evening after dinner, waiting for the sun to set. I was watching the red rim hit the horizon when my cell rang and I found myself scanning the beach for him and marveling at his timing. 

"Mulder." 

"You're smiling." 

"Where are you?" 

"Not there." 

"How far is that from 'somewhere else'?" 

His laughter accompanied my sitting down on cool sand and I sighed as I got comfortable. 

"It's a time zone or two from 'somewhere else', actually. Is the sun going down?" 

"Yeah. It looks incredible. Like someone set off a C-4 explosion in a paint factory." 

"Jesus, Mulder." More laughter. "I wish I was there." 

"Why aren't you?" 

"Don't ask." 

"Umm, working?" 

"That's one word for it." 

"Can I ask why you're doing this?" 

"Can I ask how you're feeling?" 

"What are you, my assassin-confessor?" 

"Funny, Mulder. Answer the question." 

"I feel pretty good. Better than I should, anyway." 

"And how should you feel?" 

"Like shit and guilty." 

"For how long?" 

"I... dunno." 

"If you ask me, you've felt like shit and guilty for too damned long, already." 

"I didn't ask you." 

"I know. But if you're feeling pretty good, then that's why I'm doing this." 

"You are so full of shit." 

"Did you have a good day?" 

"Yeah. Actually, I had a great day. Wandered around Conner's Point, had ice cream at Maggie's Soda Shoppe and Bookstore." 

"Did you meet Buster?" 

"Shit. You _know_ this place, don't you? Hell, I damned near _sat_ on Buster." 

"The burgundy winged back chair next to the grandfather clock." 

"I'll be damned. Were you there?" 

"No, that's Buster's favorite seat. Anyone else sits there, he stares at them until they move." 

"I was not about to move just because a sixteen pound Russian Blue was staring at me." 

More laughter. "What'd he do to you?" 

"He hissed at me, Alex. And he untied my shoelaces." 

"Poor Fox." 

"Found a great book, though." 

"Yeah?" 

"An early edition of Peroskov's poetry." 

"How early?" 

"You've heard of Peroskov? Shit. 1952." 

"Damn, I'm impressed." 

"So am I. He's a little obscure." 

"And depressing." 

"Not too depressing." 

"Mulder, for Christ's sake. Russia. Siberia. Winter. Starvation. A body count that numbered in the dozens. Religious persecution. _Depressing_." 

"He wrote a great poem about vodka. And one about blue lights in the sky over Siberia." 

"Figures that that poem followed the one about vodka." 

"How'd you hear about him?" 

"My father admired his work." 

"Yeah? Mine, too." 

"How's the lobster?" 

"Huge. Wonderful. It's Maine." 

"Good. Good." 

"What's wrong?" 

"I may not be able to reach you for a while. I've got...things to take care of." 

"I'm a big boy, Alex. I can take care of myself, you know." 

"I know. Shit, I know." 

"So what's the problem? You've got somewhere to send me and you think I won't go if you can't check up on me?" 

" _Will_ you go?" 

"Yeah, probably." 

"Why?" 

"Sorry, that's my question. And you still haven't answered it." 

"Are you enjoying the ride?" 

"Yeah. So far. It's been a hell of a lot of fun, actually. Very normal." 

"Normal is fun? I'll have to remember that." 

"For me, normal's not normal. And not normal usually involves unpleasant things. So, yeah. Normal is fun." 

"Things are going to get a little more normal, then." 

"I'm looking forward to it." 

"Get a good night's sleep; you're off bright and early tomorrow. Can you drive a stick?" 

"Yeah, why?" 

"You'll see. It'll be at the bed and breakfast in the morning. Just trade keys with the delivery man. Instructions in the glove box." 

"Got it. Can I ask you something?" 

"Always. I may opt not to answer, but you can always ask." 

"When are you going to start letting me pay my own way?" 

"Actually, you're sort of on your own for the next couple of days.I hope the cash holds out. If not, I'll make it up to you." 

"Alex, be serious. I mean, this can't have come cheap..." 

"Shut up, Fox. Believe it or not, I'm enjoying it, too." 

"Vicarious normal?" 

"You got it." 

"Okay." 

"Sun down?" 

"Yeah. Gorgeous. Sorry you missed it." 

"No more than I am. I'll be in touch." 

"Yeah. I'll miss you." 

"Mulder. I'm hanging up." 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash.If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Fourth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at: [ http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html](http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html)   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Sunset by Amirin [email removed] #117   
---


	5. Greetings

  
**Weft - Greetings  
by Amirin**

  
I know my jaw hit the ground when the 'stick' was rolled out of the truck. Jesus, Alex. 

Ferrari. 

Testarosa. 

Convertible. 

Black. 

God help me. I think I'm in love. 

I looked through the glove box for my next set of instructions. And thought he had to be kidding me. The man actually expected me to drive this incredible...car sounds so inadequate...to...New York? I was going to a Rangers game. Center ice. Shit. 

How does he _do_ this? _Why_ does he do this? 

Why do I not really give a rat's ass? 

Damn, driving _this_ through New England all the way to New York City. Top down. Ohhh, yeah. 

I will owe the man for the rest of my life. 

* * *

He'd been in touch sporadically for the last week. Krycek. Mulder, I hadn't heard word one from but Krycek was calling daily, letting me know that Mulder was all right, keeping me in the loop. I don't really know why. 

He practically handed that operation in St. Louis to Mulder on a platter. Said he just wanted to keep the man sharp. Alert. Alive. And far away from D.C. and the FBI and lots of other unpleasant letters. 

Don't tell _me_ he's got an agenda. You think I don't know that? I haven't any idea what it is, but it got Mulder out of his damned apartment, gave him something else to think about for nineteen weeks. Other than Scully getting killed. 

Krycek's given me a lot to think about, too. He only calls me when I'm at home, on my cell. Told me once not to bother trying to track him down. Told me not to worry about Mulder; he was at least halfway across the country from him. Naturally, he didn't specify _which_ country and only laughed when I asked him. 

Told me Mulder was okay and was going to be more okay as time passed. Told me Mulder liked baseball. And room service. And flying first class. And lobster. And sunrises over the ocean. And some damned Russian poet. And a dozen other things that sounded completely... I don't know what. It wasn't sinister, but in a way it was. He's dropping bread crumbs and Mulder's following. Anywhere. _Everywhere_. 

I know Mulder has his cell. I could call. But what the hell do I tell him? What could I possibly tell Mulder about Alex Krycek that he doesn't already know? He's got no rudder, since Scully was killed. No direction. Mulder's compass is pointing right at Krycek and Krycek's got the time, and the money, apparently, to send Mulder all over the damned country if he wants to. 

So, what do I do? 

And what do I do now that I'm apparently in the game, as well? Or at least going to one. Krycek sent me a ticket to a Rangers game, center ice. It was delivered by special messenger this afternoon, along with lunch. The bastard bought me lunch. 

There was also a note that said he hoped I liked Sicilian. 

So, what the hell do I do? 

I go watch the Rangers play hockey, I guess. Christ on a crutch. 

* * *

The drive to New York was automotive nirvana. The weather was perfect, the car was perfect, the day was perfect. And if the Rangers won against the Penguins, tonight, life would be perfect. Considering how bad it could have been, everything was fucking incredible. 

I thought about my apartment twice on the drive to the Big Apple. And one of those times was to wonder who was feeding my fish. Wouldn't surprise me one bit if Alex had taken care of that, too. 

He'd taken care of everything. And if I weren't enjoying it all so much, I'd be seriously pissed. But, I couldn't argue with his choices so far. Not by a damned sight. 

Did I mention the hotel? Sorry, I guess that should be The Hotel. He got me a room at The Plaza. Room? Ha. Try king-sized suite. Again. Just like St. Louis. I'm sensing a pattern here... 

I didn't even know what the 1-800 number written on the slip of paper was, until the front desk answered to confirm the reservation under yet another name that was also written on the slip of paper. Paid in full. For the next two nights. 

I checked in with the confirmation code, following Alex's instructions to the letter. They fell all over themselves making me comfortable. The valet damned near prostrated himself in front of the Ferrari. 

A long, thin envelope was waiting on the table in the living room.Brochures, an itinerary, more reservations under even more names. There was one for a late dinner after the game. At Delgatti's. For two. Who the hell was I having dinner with? Him? He'd said he was going to be gone for a couple of days. I guessed it wouldn't be too bad, whoever it was, or he would have left the Mylanta in plain sight. 

I grabbed a quick shower to wash the road off of me and got changed into something more hockey-ish. Kept the leather jacket on. I was getting used to it. 

Hailed a cab to take me to the arena; last thing I needed was for the car to get stolen. Quick ride, nice being a normal person and not an agent. Mostly. I still carried the cell. And my gun. Don't leave home with it. 

Found my seat with no problem. Perfect view. I could see _everything_. Couldn't have been any better. I kicked back and relaxed, as much as one can at a Rangers game. It was going to be fun... 

* * *

I thought I saw a man who looked like Mulder as I was making my way to my seat. Convinced myself I was delusional; the man'd been on my mind a lot during the drive from D.C., that was all. As had Krycek. 

I took a look around the arena with an agent's eye but really didn't feel like I was in any danger. Public place, huge crowd. Not quite Krycek's style, from what I remembered of it. 

I hadn't been in my seat five minutes when I heard his voice. 

"If you turn around, I'll disappear." 

Shit. 

"What do you want, Krycek?" 

"I just wanted to say hello. It's been too long." 

"Not long enough." 

"Funny, how I knew you were going to say that. Still so predictable. Unlike Fox. You never know what the hell's going to come out of _his_ mouth next." 

_Fox_? "Where's Mulder?" 

Silence met that growled demand and I was about to turn when something came around my neck. I flashed on a near-garrotting in a stairwell before a small, expensive pair of state-of-the-art binoculars dropped onto my chest. I reached up to take them and a gloved hand over my shoulder pointed almost straight ahead. 

"Exit sign. Nine rows down. Seventh seat from the left." 

Mulder. So much for delusional. 

"Nice jacket." 

"He likes my tailor." 

"What the hell are you up to?" 

"Saving his ass." 

"From what?" 

"From the same fuckers who waxed his partner." 

"He's in danger? Christ, why didn't you tell me? We would've gotten him into a safe house, something." 

"You would've gotten him killed." 

" _What_?" 

"You're still thinking in terms of 'we', Skinner. Meaning you and some people you think you can trust at the Bureau. I think in terms of 'I'. And 'he'. And that's it." 

A moment spared for quick thought and I got it. I thought I got it. Hell, you never knew with Krycek. 

"You've been keeping him moving. And visible. With a paper trail,tickets, reservations in his name..." 

"Until Vermont. They'll think he's there for quite a while. There are some... intriguing locations for a man of Mulder's interests in Vermont. I have associates who will be keeping things hectic for a few days, up there. They'll believe he's involved. For a while. Long enough." 

"Long enough to what?" 

"I've got some things I need to do. Places I need to go. People I need to... deal with. I'll be out of touch for a couple of days. And that's where _you_ come in, Skinner. You get to play guard dog until I either make it back or send Mulder somewhere else. Fair warning: Don't interfere, whichever. You really don't look that great in black." 

A vague sense of movement and he was gone by the time I turned around. Christ. Now, I had to go get Mulder. What the hell were he and I going to do until Krycek got back? And what would Krycek do if I hauled Mulder into protective custody? 

The son-of-a-bitch would 'deal with' me, that's what. I wasn't going to think about 'how'. 

Shit. 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash.If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Fifth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Greetings by Amirin [email removed] #118   
---


	6. Goodbyes

  
**Weft - Goodbyes  
by Amirin**

  
Right before the last period, I got company. I wondered who was supposed to be sitting next to me. Couldn't believe there'd be an empty seat, here. Not tonight. 

I think I sprained something, my head whipped around so damned fast at Skinner's, "Is this seat taken?" 

A new pair of binoculars was hanging around his neck and he sort of grinned when he caught my look. 

"Krycek?" 

"Yeah." 

"Nice." 

He folded himself into the seat next to me, about as uncomfortable as I've ever seen him. If it hadn't been Gretzky's last game, I would've offered to leave. 

"How are you?" 

"Better than I expected to be, Sir. I know I haven't been keeping you informed..." 

"Krycek's been taking care of that." 

"He thinks of everything. You should see the car he rented for me for the next couple of days." 

"Yeah? What?" 

"Can you say 'Ferrari'?" 

I found myself laughing at the look on his face and he shook his head in bemusement. 

"Where's he got you staying?" 

"The Plaza." 

"Damn, Mulder." 

"King-sized suite." 

"Christ." 

"Playboy channel." 

"Enough. Shit, enough." 

"Are you the reason he made dinner reservations for two tonight?" 

"Yeah. I guess so. I'm supposed to keep an eye on you until he gets back in touch." 

I should have been pissed off, but some little niggling thing was digging into my head. Lots of niggling things, actually. Like the new cell phone. The reservations under different names. Using cash only. All of it. I hadn't even known I was hiding. I might have done a better job of it if I had. 

"How much danger does he think I'm in?" 

"I don't know, Mulder. Enough to bring _me_ into whatever game he's playing." 

"He trusts you." 

"I guess so. As far as you're concerned, anyway." 

"Scares the shit out of you, doesn't it?" 

"You got it." 

"You've been drafted for guard duty." I shook my head, distracted as all hell. Every move, carefully scripted and directed by Alex. Why? 

"Mulder, do you know why he's doing this?" 

I was caught by surprise, totally. The look on my face must've been priceless. 

"Sorry, usually he's the only one who can read my mind like that. And I don't know why." 

"He's got a reason." 

"For everything." 

"He didn't tell you?" 

"Our conversations have been rather short. I'd ask why, he'd ask if I was enjoying the ride." 

"Are you?" 

"Yeah. I am. He's been sending me all over hell and gone, but it's been... good." 

"Do you trust him?" 

I was _this_ close to snapping off the usual 'fuck, no' but something stopped me. And my hesitation was telling. 

"Dammit, Mulder." 

"I don't... know. I mean, I shouldn't, I _know_ I shouldn't. But, he doesn't want me dead. He doesn't want me hurt. He's been protecting me from god knows what. Or who." 

"I've been getting some odd calls." 

"Oh?" 

"People wondering if you took all your time off to go... umm..." 

"Rogue?" 

"Something like that." 

"They think Scully's death pushed me over the edge, is that it? What the hell do they think I'm doing?" 

"I don't know. But they know about St. Louis. They know about the tip." 

"They don't know where it came from, though." 

"No. But they called me wondering what sent you haring off to Vermont in the middle of the night. And what I knew about it." 

"And you were able to answer honestly that I hadn't been in touch with you at all." 

"You got it." 

"Christ, he's a genius. What the hell's in Vermont?" 

"He just said that there were locations that would be of interest to a man of your... interests." 

"Almost enough to make me want to go back there." 

"Don't you even..." 

He trailed off when he realized I was kidding and snorted. 

"Fine. Whatever. Do you know where he'll be sending you, next?" 

"No idea." 

"But you'll go when he tells you to." 

I couldn't for the life of me figure out the tone of his voice at that comment. It wasn't challenging, wasn't angry. Resigned? Maybe. 

"Probably, yeah." 

"He said he tried to save Scully; he just got there too late." 

"Could we not talk about that? Please?" 

Whatever he heard in my voice got him to back off. Thankfully. He sighed and took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

"Sure, Mulder." 

Somehow, while we were talking, the Rangers lost. The feeling in the place changed drastically. Flashbulbs were going off everywhere, Gretzky was waving to the crowd. I watched distantly as pictures were taken and he left. And then he came back and they dimmed the lights. 

Gretzky's last skate around the ice was devastating. I'd been watching this guy play hockey since high school. Followed his career from Oxford. Watched a countless number of games on tiny tv sets in dingy hotel rooms, all over the country. A lot of them with Scully. She liked the Canadian teams. It was kind of like taking home with us, wherever we went. A constant. 

Some things just shouldn't ever have to end, you know? 

I started the thought that Scully and I would never again watch Gretzky skate or argue US versus Canadian over Chinese take-out. 

And then I remembered. 

And he was moving slowly on the ice, saying goodbye. And thank you. And he looked right at me, I swear he did. And there were tears in his eyes. And on his face. 

And I thought that if he could cry at a final goodbye... 

Damn it. 

I knew Skinner was watching, but I couldn't help it. There weren't many dry eyes anywhere in the house. But no one else was crying for the same reason I was. 

"This is goodbye." 

"I know. It's okay to cry when the great ones leave, Mulder. It's okay." 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Sixth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Goodbyes by Amirin [email removed] #119   
---


	7. Confrontation

  
**Weft - Confrontation  
by Amirin**

  
Dinner was somber. Delicious, but somber. Skinner indulged my trip down memory lane to revisit my and Scully's old haunts. I needed it. I'd been ignoring the sadness, the grief. The anger. The guilt. 

I'd bet the Ferrari that Alex knew this would happen. Which was another reason Skinner was there. To keep me from being stupid. 

Not fatally stupid. Just stupid. 

I think Alex knew that without the constant distraction he'd been providing, I'd crash into reality. And I did. 

Skinner just listened. And refilled my wine glass repeatedly. 

And got an earful. Jesus. I'm glad no one was recording it. I'd never live it down. 

I knew I had too damned much wine when I found myself wishing that Alex was there. 

Halfway through desert, Skinner became Walter. We were sharing a piece of tortoufo, seven kinds of chocolate with custard and raspberries. I'm not sure when he started calling me Fox. I hope I didn't flinch too much the first time he said it. 

I kept checking my pocket for the cell, just to make sure I had it. He noticed. Decided it was time for us to leave. Tried to pick up the check, but it'd been paid for, in advance. Big surprise, there. Oh, yeah. 

He asked the waiter to call us a cab back to the Plaza. I offered him the use of the smaller bedroom or the sofa bed, whichever he wanted, and he agreed, said he could pick up his car later. 

It was late when we staggered into the room. Actually, I was staggering, Walter was doing an admirable job of keeping my feet under me. 

He mentioned that the suite was bigger than my apartment. Possibly even his. 

I told him about the pattern I'd found in Alex's choice of hotel rooms. He asked me if I thought it was an x-file. I don't think he got it. 

He checked out the itinerary still on the table and snorted a little. Alex had arranged for brunch around ten. Bet he knew we wouldn't be up before then. Yeah, he knew, all right. 

Bastard. 

Shit, the cell was quiet. 

Walter had taken Monday off; told Kim he didn't want to drive back so late after the game. We were both going to be sleeping in. And sleeping it off. 

I went headfirst into bed, barely kicking my shoes off. Almost gave Walter a fight when he took the leather jacket, but he put it where I could see it and I relaxed into a wine-red haze. I was mostly asleep before he even left the room. 

I surfaced a few hours later, downed a couple of glasses of water and some aspirin, and shucked the rest of my clothes. 

The bed was huge, but I was using most of it. I'd never be able to sleep on my couch after this. I was getting too used to beds. 

Too used to a lot of things. The cell remained ominously silent on the nightstand. I tried to tell myself I wasn't worried. Neither of us believed me. 

Why was I working myself into knots about this? Hell, at one time, you'd've had to shoot me to keep me from killing him. What was so different? 

When had it all changed? 

Was it when he'd told me not to shoot Kersh because I wasn't a murderer? 

Or when he'd covered Scully with his jacket? 

Maybe when he covered my ass? 

How 'bout when he got me the hell out of Dodge and away from them? 

When? 

Why? 

I crawled back into bed and lay there for the longest time. Reached over to the nightstand and picked up the cell, like I could will it to ring. And that's when I noticed. 

It wasn't my cell. 

I took a quick look around the room. The leather jacket had been tossed into the chair last night when I'd gone to bed. Now, it was hanging over the back. 

I was up and going through the pockets before the sheets settled behind me. Christ. I'd never even heard him. 

A couple hundred dollars, small bills, again. New watch, a Patek Phillipe, major piece of time-keeping, there. Classier than a Rolex. Understated. Where the hell...? Tiffany's. 

Jesus. 

Folded piece of paper. Hurriedly scrawled. Barely readable. This from the man with fucking perfect handwriting? 

_Be a tourist tomorrow. Tuesday morning - Enjoy breakfast; it'll be brought up. Leave after nine. Check the glove box in the 'Rosa._

A 

PS. Say 'hi' to Bald Mountain. Tell him he snores. 

Word of advice. Do not have fits of hysterics while hung over. Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. 

I crawled back into bed and just lay there for the longest time, grinning. Wondering why I was grinning. 

Wondering if next time I should leave milk and cookies out for him. Or vodka. 

Wondering if there'd _be_ a next time. And hoping so. 

Wondering why I was hoping so. 

And realizing that I wanted to see him. 

Shit. 

I turned the cell over and over in my hand and thought. And thought. And thought some more. 

And kicked myself for being an idiot. 

And wished I knew Russian, because English didn't seem to adequately convey just how _much_ of an idiot I actually was. 

I hit speed dial one and banged my head on the wall when I heard it ring. 

Which was even less smart than the earlier fit of hysterics. 

I was in rare form, wasn't I? 

"You don't call, you don't write..." 

"Alex." I settled back against the headboard and grinned. "I'm an idiot." 

"S'okay. You're smiling." 

"Yeah." 

"Tell me I didn't wake you." 

"You didn't. But, why the hell didn't you?" 

"I didn't know what kind of reception I'd get. Skinner wasn't exactly thrilled, yesterday." 

"The arena?" 

"Yeah. I see he caught up with you." 

"You sound funny." 

"I'm fine. Just tired." 

"Can you tell me where you are?" 

"No." 

"Alex?" 

"What?" 

"What's wrong?" 

"Why do you care?" 

I was silent for a second too long and he was gone. Shit. I hit speed dial one again and it rang. And rang. And rang. And I told myself I wasn't going to turn it off. That I could be just as stubborn... 

" _What_!?" 

"Hello, again." 

"Mulder, what do you _want_?" 

"I want you to talk to me." 

An exasperated sigh, then, softly, "About what?" 

"About whatever's wrong." 

"Who the fuck are you, my therapist?" 

"If you like." 

"Shit, I hate it when you get all analytical on me." 

"Talk to me." 

"I didn't want to leave." 

"When?" 

"Earlier. In your room." 

"You could've stayed." 

A disbelieving snort, then, "Yeah, right. With Skinner in the other bedroom. He's a light sleeper. And he's carrying. And he hates me." 

"All true. But you still could've stayed. I want to talk to you." 

"You are talking to me." 

"In person." 

"Someday, Mulder." 

"What happened to Fox?" 

"You hate being called Fox." 

"It didn't stop you, before. And I think I'm getting used to it. Walter's been calling me Fox since dinner last night and I haven't shot him yet." 

" _Walter_?" 

"Alex..." 

"Never mind, I don't want to know." 

"Dammit, there's nothing _to_ know." 

"Really." 

"Yes, really! Shit, what are you thinking, that I'm fucking my boss?" 

And then I heard the choked sound from the door and looked up, right into the stunned eyes of the boss I wasn't fucking. 

Hysterics or head-banging? 

I closed my eyes and debated. Fortunately, Skinner took pity on me and left, shutting the door quietly. I only hoped he wasn't going to get his gun. 

"I wish I didn't have a hangover." 

"What? Fox, what the hell...?" 

"I'm not fucking my boss." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Am I _sure_? Jesus, Alex!" 

"I wondered." 

"Wondered what?" 

"If you and Skinner..." 

"There _is_ no 'me and Skinner'. We _aren't_! And we _won't_. _Ever_. Christ." 

"Would you?" 

"With Skinner? _No_!" 

"Not with Skinner." 

"Who...? Alex?" 

"I'm hanging up." 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash.If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Seventh in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Confrontation by Amirin [email removed] #120   
---


	8. Avoidance

  
**Weft - Avoidance  
by Amirin**

  
I have no idea how long I sat there, staring incredulously at the cell. I heard the shower running, dimly. Whatever time it was, my room was a lot brighter when Walter finally knocked. 

"Yeah." 

He entered cautiously, eyebrow arched. 

"Want to tell me what that was all about?" 

"I don't have a fucking clue." 

"He thinks we're..." 

"Apparently." I sighed and put the cell on the nightstand. Right next to my new watch. Which was a work of art. Which I hadn't even thanked him for. 

Shit. 

"I should get going." 

I shook my head and Walter dragged the chair over near the bed. I caught his look at the leather jacket and wondered. For about a nanosecond. And crossed that eventuality off the list. Permanently. 

All I wanted to do was call Alex back. 

"I was supposed to stay until he made contact, one way or another. I take it he has." 

"He was here. Said to say hi. And to tell you, you snore." 

"I'm glad I'm still breathing." 

"He just came to... I don't know. He could have had it all delivered with breakfast." I spared a glance at the watch and Walter's eyes tracked mine and widened. He whistled softly. 

"Classy." 

"Yeah." 

"He's got taste." 

"Nothing but the best for Alex Krycek." 

"I'm beginning to understand that." 

You know, I've always hated it when Skinner mutters cryptically. _Really_ annoys the hell out of me. 

"He left instructions for you?" 

"Yeah. Wants me to spend the day playing John Q. Tourist. I'm supposed to leave tomorrow morning." 

"For where?" 

"Don't know. He said to check the glove box in the Ferrari." 

"So you couldn't tell me, even if you wanted to." 

"He does tend to be deliberate." 

"Very." He sighed and looked resigned. "I need to get going. He warned me not to interfere. With anything." 

"Breakfast..." 

"I'll grab some coffee downstairs before I go. I don't usually do breakfast." 

"A week ago, I didn't either. Amazing what you can get used to." 

"King-sized suites and room service." He was grinning when he said it. 

"Yeah." 

"I'll see myself out. Watch yourself, Mulder." 

"You, too." 

I heard footsteps, a door close, more footsteps, another door, then silence. 

And had the cell in my hands a moment later. 

And cursed when I got the 'unavailable' message. 

And did my best to follow Alex's original instructions about not thinking, about letting him do the thinking. The only problem was, I didn't like what he seemed to be thinking and I didn't have any way to set him straight. 

Christ. 

How had this gotten so un-fun all of a sudden? 

The urge to take off and head in Vermont's general direction was almost overwhelming. Hell, I'd ditched Scully for less. Many times. 

And I couldn't escape the fact that the _last_ time I'd gone running off, she'd gotten killed. 

The thought occurred to me that I couldn't afford to do it twice. I was running out of partners. 

And I wondered when Alex Krycek and I had become partners again. 

And I wondered when it had gotten so easy, to follow where he led. 

And I wondered why it didn't bother me. What bothered me was the fact that I couldn't get a hold of him, couldn't talk to him. 

And I wondered how much time I had before breakfast came knocking. 

I resigned myself to a day of aimlessly wandering around New York City, dragged myself out of bed, and hit the shower. I was barely out and dressed when breakfast arrived and I honestly didn't think I could sit still long enough to eat it. 

The cell had become a permanent part of my hand; I was trying to dial about every five minutes. 

And growing more manic all the time. 

Until I saw the note tucked under the plate. 

_I'll call you later._

Promise. 

A 

And considered not leaving the room except to get my next set of directions out of the Ferrari. 

And decided I really didn't want to have to tell Alex that, when he called. 

I left my laundry for the valet service to take care of and headed to the garage. Took one look at that car and couldn't help grinning. 

And couldn't get behind the wheel fast enough. 

Headed out of New York, just so I could open her up. And hoped Letterman was keeping the cops busy, because I was going to try and break some land speed records, if I could get away with it. 

Apparently, I could. And did. And had a fucking wonderful time, thank you very much. 

I got lost twice, not that I cared. 

Avoided Pennsylvania like the plague was due to strike. 

Couldn't deal with it. Not yet. 

Southern New York was so... normal. Gotta be what draws the serial killers there to retire. Last place anyone would look for them. 

Found a diner that did amazing things with soup and gorged myself. The hangover was totally gone and I was starving. Got back on the road after my second piece of pie. 

Spent hours driving, top up, top down, radio on, radio off. Actually tried singing, once. 

Only once. 

Made it back to the city around four in the afternoon, headed to the room to shower and change into clean clothes, and called a cab to take me to the restaurant where Alex had made me dinner reservations. 

It was Russian. Tiny hole-in-the-wall kind of place. Amazing. Dinner had been ordered for me. I spent the next hour eating a little of everything and all of it delicious. Leave it to Alex. 

Hell. Could I leave any _more_ to Alex? The man had taken over my life. And done a much better job with it than I had. 

Which really pissed me off. 

I gave up drinking after two small glasses of vodka, chilling on ice. So cold it hurt. It was wonderful. 

Debated walking around the city, but didn't trust the 'new and improved' party line enough to chance it. Caught another cab and went to Central Park, still pretty light out, nice, cool evening, sun not yet down. 

Beautiful. I hailed a carriage and made myself comfortable, letting someone else do the driving. 

And thought about Alex. And took the cell out of my pocket just before it rang. 

"'Bout time." 

"I'm hearing clip-clopping." 

"Carriage ride in Central Park." 

"You're alone?" 

"You're not here, are you?" 

"No, I'm..." 

"Somewhere else." 

"Yeah." 

"Then I'm alone." 

"I think it's my turn to be the idiot." 

"Dibs on tomorrow." 

"You're hilarious." 

"And you're smiling." 

"Yeah. What are you wearing?" 

"You keep stealing all my best lines." 

"Fox." 

"Nikes, leather jacket, Patek Phillipe watch." 

"Nothing else?" 

"Nothing else that matters." 

"What the hell are you doing, Mulder?" 

"What the hell does it feel like, Krycek?" 

"I'm hanging up." 

"Don't you dare." 

"Fox." 

"Alex." 

"Damn you." 

"Maybe. When can I see you?" 

"I can't get out of here for a day or two. Follow the instructions in the Ferrari. Do you remember where you parked it?" 

"Yeah." 

"Your next car will be in the same spot. Lock the keys in the 'Rosa tonight. The new ones will be delivered with breakfast tomorrow. Got it?" 

"Got it. When can I see you?" 

"Dammit, Fox. In a day or two." 

"Promise me." 

"I can't." 

"Yes, you can." 

"You don't understand. There are things..." 

"Promise me." 

"Damn you, Mulder." 

"Alex." 

_Fine_. I promise, all right? Shit." 

"I'll see you in a day or two." 

"Yeah." 

"Alex." 

"I... Fox. Christ. I'll see you in a day or two." 

"Thank you." 

"I'm hanging up." 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash.If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Eighth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree,who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Avoidance by Amirin [email removed] #121   
---


	9. Rocking

  
**Weft - Rocking  
by Amirin**

  
I had no idea what Alex was doing. Or where, exactly. And something told me I really didn't want to. 

I bailed out of the carriage and caught a cab back to the hotel. Headed to the garage and got the thick envelope out of the glove box. Locked the keys inside, just like I was supposed to. And wondered what I'd find sitting in the 'Rosa's place, tomorrow. 

One of these days, my rental was going to be a Harrier. 

Walked slowly up to the suite, trying to guess what my next destination was by the heft of the envelope. 

I tossed it on the table when I came in. Deliberately making myself wait to see what was inside, like I used to do when I was a kid and I'd wake up at four in the morning on Christmas day. Back when it still meant something. 

Got my laundry out of the bags, so it wouldn't smell like plastic. 

Decided to leave the lights out in the room. I had an incredible view of the skyline. Breathtaking. I must have sat in the chair for hours, watching the cars, the airplanes, the lights. No other city on the planet looks like New York. 

It was almost ten when I gave in. According to my new watch. 

I was going to Boston. Or Bahston, depending on who you were talking to. 

Tickets to a Celtics game, tomorrow night. Much as I love basketball, the Celtics just haven't been the same since the Bird retired and flew back to Indiana. Still, it could be fun. 

More tickets to a late dinner cruise on the Harbor, afterward. 

Reservations for a night in an old inn, historic district. Under yet another fake name. I'd heard of this place. Nice. 

As for where I was going the morning after that, I had no idea. Alex hadn't planned that far ahead. Or, if he had, he wasn't telling. And I didn't know when I was going to get to see him. 

When had that become such an important part of the equation? 

The man had gone from being my nemesis to speed dial one. Ain't that a kick in the head? 

The car was another kick. And damned intimidating. I must have spent a good twenty minutes in the garage just staring at it. I knew it had to be mine before I even tried the key in the door. 

A '36 Rolls Royce Phantom III. 

Nicknamed the 'Phantom Menace' by mechanics because of the complicated construction of the V-12 engine. 

Custom roadster. Almost looked like something Cruella Deville would drive before she got around to skinning puppies. 

I loved it. 

Didn't know where it figured into the Alex Equation, or if it was simply a statement on the most recent Star Wars film, but I loved it. 

The drive to Boston was cool, clear, calm. Not the 'calm before the storm 'calm. Just ordinary calm. Normal. 

Things were as close to and as far from being normal as I'd ever encountered. _Ever_. 

This whole thing with Alex wasn't normal. But, he was making it normal. He was getting me used to him, slowly, painlessly. Deliberately. 

Alex does nothing without a reason. A reason that may not make any sense at all to anyone else, but makes perfect sense to him. And the reason can change if the circumstances or the variables change; he's fluid enough to adapt. 

I found myself wondering how easily he'd adapted to losing his arm. 

And wondered if that was part of the reason I wasn't putting up much of a fight about his taking over my life. Maybe I felt I owed him, at least this much. Maybe not. 

I tried to think about what he was accomplishing, but made myself stop. As soon as I started questioning his motives, the indulgent, luxurious, wonderful vacation I was on suddenly turned malevolent. I didn't want to know.Whatever it was, whatever he was doing, I didn't want to know. My sense of self-preservation squawked a little, but only a little. 

If he'd wanted me dead, I would have been. 

If he'd wanted me permanently out of the way, I would have been. 

If he'd wanted revenge or retribution, for his arm, for his life, for the running, whatever... I didn't think he'd go about it this way. 

Alex was enjoying this. Not as much as I was, but still... 

Putting the brakes on my thinking left me distracted for most of the night. I wasn't the only one off his game. The Celtics lost miserably, but it was still fun. Every time someone's cell rang, I jumped a foot. And caught myself grinning at it. 

Dinner was wonderful. I was the only single man on the boat. Spent a lot of time staring at the lights rippling across the water, not thinking, just enjoying myself. It was a nice night, very deep, very dark. But, for whatever reason, I didn't get the feeling that anything was lurking in it. I trust my instincts. For good or bad, I trust them. And they were fine with this. 

After dinner, I headed back to the inn. Housekeeping was doing turn-down service, so I wandered out onto the porch. There were a few other people out there, the swings and chairs were creaking right along with the frogs and crickets, until I got around back. Almost silent. People-silent, anyway. The other creatures of the night were trying to top each other in how much noise they could make. I only added to it a little with the rocker I was in. 

I was creaking along in some weird duet with a frog when I heard it. A different creak, like the floor of the porch underfoot. Don't ask me how I knew. I just did. 

"'Bout time you showed up." 

"You're making that poor frog crazy, you know that?" 

"I'm just that kind of guy." 

He came around me slowly, hesitantly, and moved to lean against one of the columns. I could barely see him in the darkness. Only his eyes and the earring were reflecting any light at all. 

"Just the kind of guy who sends innocent frogs into mating frenzies? Nice, Mulder." 

"We all have our kinks." 

He laughed. 

"Some of us have more than others, apparently." 

"How are you?" 

God, could that be any more inane? I swear I could almost see the smirk on his face at that remark, and justifiably so. This was ridiculous. 

"I'm fine," he answered with a grin in his voice. "How are you?" 

"Fine." 

"I'm glad." 

"Yeah." 

"Mulder?" 

"Hmm?" 

"This is asinine." 

"I know." 

"Would it help if I went inside and called you?" 

I laughed. I couldn't help it. 

"Maybe. But don't." 

I could see his shrug and the shake of his head, the small hoop in his ear sending off tiny flashes of gleaming gold. 

"I love the car. I've loved _all_ the cars." 

"The next one will be just your average stick, I'm afraid. A family kind of car." 

"I'll adjust," I said with a grin he could probably hear. "Alex?" 

"Whatever you do, don't thank me. Please." 

"Why not?" 

"I don't want your thanks." 

He turned away enough for me to see his profile. He didn't look happy. Come to think of it, he'd rarely ever looked happy, in the time I'd known him. 

"What's wrong? Alex?" 

"Fox... Nothing, really." 

"Why don't I believe you?" 

"Maybe because you know I'm a pathological liar? Gee, Mulder, could that be why?" Krycek asked wryly. 

I stood up and moved towards him and I swear I saw his whole body tense, eyes darting, looking for the closest escape route. 

"Easy, Jesus, Alex. Relax." 

He snorted. 

"I can't afford to relax, Mulder. Not yet. If I do, I'm dead." 

"Can you tell me why you're doing all this?" 

"Is normal still fun?" 

Okay, he threw me with that one. 

"Yeah," I answered with some confusion. "Normal's a lot of fun." 

"I'm looking forward to normal," he said quietly. "It doesn't have to be a lot of fun." 

I moved a little closer, carefully. It was like trying not to startle an animal, because you're afraid it'll run out into traffic, if you do. He tensed, again,anyway. 

"Do you really think I'm going to hurt you?" 

"More than likely, Mulder," he said softly. 

"It's not going to happen." 

"Don't tell me that. I can't believe it." 

"It isn't going to happen." 

"Maybe not now..." 

"Alex." 

"Don't. Just... don't." 

I was close enough to touch him, close enough to see his face. And as close as I was, we may as well have been a continent apart. 

"Did you see the sunset earlier?" I whispered. Normal volume just seemed too loud. 

"Yeah, over the St. Charles." 

"Been a while, huh?" 

"Yeah." 

"I wish you'd told me I was hiding." 

"You aren't hiding, Fox." 

"Do they think I'm still in Vermont?" 

"Yeah. With any luck they think we _both_ are." 

"This is coming close to wrapping up, isn't it? Whatever it is?" 

"A day or two. If I'm really, really, fucking lucky." 

"Can I help?" 

He looked right at me. And through me. I swear to god, I felt it. 

"Would you? Help me?" 

"What do you need?" 

"Shit, Fox..." 

"Talk to me." 

"Give me a day or two to set some things up. I'll let you know." 

"Where am I going tomorrow?" 

"I left instructions in your room." 

"Okay." 

"You're just going to go along with this without an argument, aren't you?" 

"Probably," I answered wryly. 

Alex shook his head. 

"Why?" he asked like he really wanted to know. 

"Something major is going on..." 

"Shit! You don't know what that is, Mulder. I could be setting you up six ways from Sunday. You don't _know_!" 

"Tell me you're setting me up," I challenged. "Tell me this was all just an elaborate mind fuck until you deliver me to the highest bidder with a bow around my neck. Tell me you're going to get me killed." 

"I just might, Mulder! Dammit!" 

He turned away and I caught his arm. Or, the arm that wasn't his arm. We both froze. I slid my hand up the leather until the plastic under it became flesh. 

"If you've been doing all this to soften me up, to get me to cooperate with you in whatever you have to do..." 

"Mulder..." 

"I gotta tell ya, I think it worked." 

"Shit." 

"I'd probably be dead a dozen times over if I hadn't gone along with you,right?" 

"Probably." 

"Okay, then. I don't think I'll be stopping any time soon. I don't think I'm in any danger, not from you..." 

"You can't trust me," Alex interrupted. 

"I can't trust anyone beyond a certain point. You haven't reached it, yet." 

What the hell had that come from? 

I think it surprised him as much as it did me. 

"Christ." 

I don't think I'd ever seen him so frightened. Edgy. Nervous. I put my other hand on his shoulder, just to keep him from bolting. What happened next... I gotta admit, I never saw it coming. 

He moved closer and put his arm around me. Rested his chin on my shoulder. Sighed quietly. 

And the whole 'not hurting him' thing took on a slightly different cast. A vision of me backing up and backhanding him across the face flashed through my mind and I cringed inwardly. Externally, too, apparently, because he stiffened and tried to pull away from me. 

"Don't," I murmured into his ear. "Don't move. It's okay." 

"Fox." 

"Alex. Just... be still." 

He went silent, but stayed wary. Watchful. As always. My leather jacket rubbed against his and creaked and damn me if that fucking frog didn't answer the call. 

His shaking worried me for a second, until I realized it was laughter. I couldn't help it, I just followed where he led. As usual. 

We got a little hysterical for a moment, then calmed down. His fingers ghosted through my hair and he eased back, still grinning. 

"I should go." 

"I know." 

"I've got a shitload of stuff to do." 

"I know." 

"Wish I didn't." 

"I know." 

He snorted. 

"And here you thought I was softening _you_ up. Ha!" 

My eyes narrowed. 

"Just how soft are you?" 

"My god, did _that_ sound like a pick-up line. And a _bad_ one, Mulder." 

"Alex." 

My voice was a warning. Fortunately, he heard it. His _other_ grin, the one that almost made me feel sorry for whomever he encountered next, flashed like a switchblade and he shrugged nonchalantly. 

"Not that soft. I'll be okay. Thanks for worrying." 

There was a genuine... _something_ under the sarcasm, which I appreciated on some level. The sarcasm, I didn't. Christ, he was annoying. No wonder I spent so damned much time knocking him around. 

I thought the usual Krycek was back and sighed. Shit, and people think _I'm mercurial. I've got nothing on Alex Krycek._

"Watch yourself," I said quietly and started to move back. 

"You, too. I'll be in touch." 

I thought he'd just leave. 

When I'm wrong, _damn_ , I'm wrong. 

He closed the distance between us, caught my eyes for a second, and leaned forward just enough to touch his mouth to mine. Tentatively. For about a heartbeat. Then, his tongue found a way in. He tasted like mint. And chocolate. And heat. And... God. 

His arm pulled me even closer. Only the one, like he didn't want to touch me with the other. My hands went under his jacket, felt the muscles flexing and tensing under the t-shirt. Lean. Wiry. Powerful. Lethal. Strong, but not savage. Hard, hungry. Perfect. 

Christ... 

Alex backed up just enough to rest his forehead against mine. It was comforting to see him breathing just as heavily as I was. 

"I need to go," he said, voice weighted with regret. 

I couldn't say I liked the idea. So, I kissed him. For some odd reason, it seemed to take him by surprise. His gasp made things much easier and I took my time committing his taste, his scent, the very _feel_ of him to memory. He finally wrenched himself away, just when things started to get interesting. 

"Fox, I've _got_ to go." 

He was trying so hard to be firm, some parts of him were succeeding better than others. It might have worked if I hadn't given in to the temptation to see what his throat felt like under my lips. 

He swallowed convulsively and jerked, groaning my name in a choked whisper. 

"This is fun," I breathed against his skin, mouth moving from pounding pulse to the silky spot under his ear. 

"You're a twisted son-of-a-bitch, Mulder," he gasped just before crying out in strangled Russian when I gently bit him. 

"This is a hell of a lot of fun," I amended, switching sides. 

"Oh, _Christ_." 

I moved my hands down to his waist, but didn't go lower. I bet I could've; I don't think he was in any position to stop me. But I stayed where I was,locked my knees to keep them from buckling and waited while he recovered. I amused myself by working my tongue around his earring until I felt him chuckling against me. 

"Fox, if I don't go now, I won't. And I have to." 

"I know." 

I eased away as much as I could, which wasn't much. He hadn't let go of me,either. 

"I'll find you." 

"Okay. Watch your ass." 

"Bet on it." 

He kissed me again, too quickly for me to react, and disengaged himself from me a second before he vaulted over the railing, went around the house and disappeared. 

I sighed and headed back into the inn, made my way up to my room. The sheets were turned down and there was an envelope on my pillow. Nothing else. 

The bastard had eaten my mint. 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Ninth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Rocking by Amirin [email removed] #135   
---


	10. Shaking

  
**Weft - Shaking  
by Amirin**

  
The instructions he'd left on my pillow were brief. Just a map, and a note that read 'Head to Riverview, Connecticut, and see what's shaking'. Nothing else. 

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? 

My new car? The keys were delivered with breakfast. 

Just your average stick, he'd said. Shit. This was the saffron of stick shifts. A 1926 Auburn Duesenberg. Turquoise and cream. With an AM radio. This was a 'family car'? 

Dear god. 

How does he _do_ this? 

I got on the road, wondered how much a beauty like this machine went for and debated on keeping it. 

Connecticut wasn't all that far and in a few hours I was passing the 'Welcome to Riverview' billboard will all the usual plaques and badges for the various organizations. So hometown, so... _normal_. He'd said things were going to get more normal. You can't get much more normal than Smalltown, USA. 

I drove around the town square a half a dozen times until the car started getting attention and pulled off onto a quiet sidestreet to look around. Shops in brick buildings of beauty and character, small diners, a theatre with a lightbulb marquee, the bus depot. The library. That seemed as good place to start as any. 

It felt weird, not having my every move spelled out and scheduled. But I thought I could handle it. I was an FBI agent, for Christ's sake. 

I got back on the circle for a bit, headed down a one-way street, cut through the parking lot behind the bank, and finally made my way to 'Visitor Parking'. 

The air-conditioning was a welcome blast of cool relief and I smiled automatically at the people who turned and looked at me. Hell, I couldn't seem to help it. 

I wandered the stacks aimlessly, not really knowing what I was looking for, until the sign pointing to the room devoted to 'Riverview's History, A Look Back' caught my eye. The prints of the town's forefathers were on the wall next to the pictures detailing the tragic fire at the courthouse back in 1962, and the subsequent reconstruction, finished in 1966. That's when I caught a name in the alphabetical list of craftsmen and builders who'd worked on the project. N. Krychekov. 

Coincidence, my ass. 

I decided to leave the Auburn where it was and walked the distance across the square, taking in the usual cannons and antique bombers which hadn't seen action for half a century, and scuffed my way up the stone steps of the Monrovia County Courthouse. 

I wandered around the building, admired the work done on the stairs, the rotunda, the stained-glass windows, and wondered where the hand of Alex's father would be found in evidence. The courthouse was a work of art, literally, and I spent damned near an hour looking the place over. 

"May I help you, Sir?" 

I turned around to find a lady with a friendly smile that reminded me of soup and cookies. 

"Just admiring the architecture, Mrs...?" 

"Franklin, Maggie Franklin, Mr....?" 

"Mulder," I answered and was going to leave it at that when a amusingly reproving look was cast my way. "Fox Mulder. An amazing job, considering how badly it was burned." 

"It took four years to complete," she slid smoothly into the role of tour guide. "And four million dollars." 

"Quite a chunk of change for 1966." 

"It _is_ the county seat." 

"Money well spent." 

I was still looking the place over, following the curve of the overhead balcony with my eyes. "Is there any way to find out who did what during the rebuilding? The men who worked on it?" 

"Most of them are long gone," she started to demure, looking at me curiously, but caved under the pleading look I sent her. "I'll take you to Records," she decided finally. "Gert can probably help you." 

She led the way up the staircase - the steps, marble, the banister, polished brass - down another corridor to a room almost at the end of the hall, and smiled at the older lady behind the counter. 

"Gert, this gentleman is looking for some more information on the men who worked on the reconstruction. Can you help him?" 

"What are you looking for, Mr...?" 

"Mulder," I answered and added, before the sweet smile turned reproving, "Fox Mulder. And, actually, I'm looking for a who, more than a what." 

"All righty, then, _who_ are you looking for?" 

A faint click behind me signaled Maggie's departure and I grinned at the grandmotherly lady in front of me. Geez, she was even tinier than Scully. 

"I'm trying to find an 'N. Krychekov', with a 'K'. Can you help me?" 

"That name sounds familiar. Let's check the roster," she said, and got busy with numerous dusty volumes. I was over by the window, looking out at the square, when she looked up and beamed in victory. 

"You found him," I guessed and walked around the counter to look over her shoulder. "Nickolai Krychekov, woodworker." The list of smaller projects he'd worked on was impressive and his talents certainly contributed to the beautiful whole. 

"Of course, Nicky Krycek," she said aloud and chuckled, then answered my unspoken question. "He shortened the last name when he married Bets. Elizabeth Potter," she explained. "Beautiful girl, just lovely. The most striking green eyes, and lashes that were the envy of half the women in town. Smart as a whip, too. Sweetest thing you'd ever laid eyes on, that was our Bets." 

"Was?" I echoed. 

"They both died tragically many years back, she and Nicky, still so young..." she trailed off into memories and I actually hated to disturb her. 

"Did they have any children before they died?" I asked nonchalantly and grinned inwardly when she nodded. 

"Oh, my, yes," she said with a mischievous grin. "Alex. His grandmother raised him after their deaths. Absolute devil of a boy, but with the smile of one of God's own angels. Track star through high school..." 

"Which high school?" I interrupted hurriedly, and kicked myself for not thinking of this sooner. 

"Riverview West," she answered, with a puzzled look on her face. 

"How do I get there?" 

"Down Seventh Avenue, past the railroad tracks, just before you get to the old mill..." 

I gave her a peck on the cheek with a rushed 'thanks' and tore out of the room. 

Finding Seventh Avenue was no problem; the first street after Main was, well, First. I just kept heading north until I hit Seventh and barely noticed the rumbling bump as I passed over the train tracks. I saw the school immediately. 

Big place, football field to die for, old wooden bleachers, and a cinder track running around the perimeter. I headed for 'Visitor Parking' again, carefully parked the Auburn, and walked into the building, heading directly for the office. 

I was passing the gym, with its required sound of bouncing basketballs, when I saw the trophy case. I glanced through it, the large banner marking the Year Of Glory for the track team of 1985. Pennants galore, plus, jackpot of jackpots, the team photo. And Alex Krycek, center frame, with his arm around the shoulders of a young Asian, a C. Keng. 

"Hello, there!" A way-too-damned-chipper voice startled me and I turned around to see the stereotypical Varsity cheerleader right at my elbow. She was bouncing up and down on the toes of her tennies and I was seriously tempted to put a hand on her head, just to get her to hold still. "Can I help you?" she asked earnestly. 

"I'm just looking around, thanks." 

"Tiff, we're gonna be late," one of the other girls hissed, prompting a glare from 'Tiff' that really reminded me of Scully. 

"Tiffany, Lisa, isn't Mrs. Wilkins expecting you, ladies?" 

Thank God, an authority figure. 

"Yes, Ms. Armstrong," the girls chorused and, with a few breathless "Bye"s and giggles, headed off to find Mrs. Wilkins. 

Shrewd eyes a lot like Walter's had my number before I could draw another breath. 

"Good morning, Mrs..." 

"It's afternoon, Mr...?" 

I sighed and surrendered. Immediately. "Mulder, Fox Mulder." I was getting better at this. "Gert at the courthouse pointed me your way," I started and found the eyes thawing just a trifle. "I'm trying to find Alex Krycek, or someone who knows him." 

"You've found him," she stated firmly, nodding at the case, her gaze softening just a little more. "Alex is one of our legends." 

"Hometown hero," I muttered, looking at the picture of a young Krycek with a genuine smile on his face, eyes glittering merrily right through the black and white photo. 

"Quite a few of his old track records are still standing, to this day," the lady winced. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. Ginnie Armstrong, nice to meet you." 

I shook her hand with some distraction, searching Alex's face for a hint of the man I knew. 

"Is there anyone around here who's still in touch with him?" I asked her. 

"Probably Chae, if anyone," Ginnie nodded to the photo, indicating the young Asian. "He's in Chesterton, about an hour and a half's drive north of here. Done well for himself, a doctor." 

"Doctor?" 

"Pediatrician," she clarified. "He and Alex were thicker'n thieves all through school. If anyone knows how to reach Alex, it would be Chae." 

I turned back to the photo and looked at the boy's name again. Chae Keng. Oh, shit. 

I started laughing as I thanked a somewhat bewildered Ginnie and headed to the parking lot. Chae Keng? I'd just found what was _shaking_ in Riverview. 

"Cute, Alex. Very cute." 

The hour and a half drive to Chesterton passed quickly. I stopped to check out the local phone book while I got the tank filled at a station where the guy seemed horrified to find me about to pump my own gas. 

I found Dr. Keng in the yellow pages, with a listing for the local hospital, and drove over, as soon as the guy from the gas station was done worshipping my car. 

It didn't take long to find Keng's office and introduce myself to his receptionist. I told her it was personal and had to insist that I didn't have a child with me. 

I read through the magazines for almost another hour in the waiting room. The doctor showed up about the time I started getting hungry. 

"You don't strike me as being the GQ type, Mr. Mulder," a dry voice stated. 

"I'm just impressed the magazines aren't three years old." 

"I do my best. Amy said this was personal," he tilted his chin toward his receptionist. 

"It is. It's about Alex Krycek." 

One black eyebrow arched smoothly, but there was no other reaction. The guy had been expecting me; I just knew it. 

"This isn't a real good time, Agent Mulder." 

My eyes lit up. Hah. I hadn't introduced myself as _Agent_ Mulder. 

"I know that Alex has been in touch with you, recently, and I'd like to talk to you, if you have a moment." 

"It would take more than a moment, I'm afraid." 

He didn't even bother asking me how I knew what I knew. 

"Fortunately, I'm working a short day, today, so I have the time." 

"I appreciate that." 

Yeah, more than you know, Doc. 

"Why don't you stop by my place later this evening? I'll be home after seven." 

"I look forward to it," I replied, grinning again. The doctor gave me directions for a decent hotel nearby to stay in for the night and a restaurant that sounded like it could meet my exacting specifications for grease-laden and high-caloried food and I took off like a hound on a scent. 

I checked into the hotel first, getting a king-size room out of habit and paying for it with cash. More habit. 

The diner was glorious. I could smell the food a block and a half away. Sometimes, there just isn't anything in life better than a hamburger, loaded, and french fries. 

I still wished Alex was there. 

I debated calling him, or trying to, but left it alone. There wasn't really a reason to; he knew where I was, I knew he'd come when he could. 

I polished off lunch and thought about going back to the hotel but it was too nice a day to waste it watching Jerry Springer. 

The food was making me drowsy, though, and a short nap sounded good before I went anywhere else. I caught a sign for a city park on the way and that sounded like a good idea, just finding a tree to doze under. 

I parked by the tennis courts and took a trail to the lake, surrounded by huge, old trees. Finding one away from people proved relatively easy and after checking my gun and cell, I made myself comfortable. 

My mind flashed back to Alex's eyes smiling out from a photograph just before I fell asleep. 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Tenth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:[ http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html](http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html)   
Thanks to my Media West roommates for helping me with Nicky.   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Shaking by Amirin [email removed] #136   
---


	11. Rattling

  
**Weft - Rattling  
by Amirin**

  
I woke up just enough to snort a bug out of my nose, then remembered where I was and checked the time. It was still reasonably early; if I wanted to, I could run over to the diner and grab dinner. 

It didn't take long to decide I wanted to. Still, I didn't move. I watched the sun shine through the trees, enjoyed the illusory idyll of peace and time. Noticed the utter lack of stress and didn't miss it. 

Listened to the ducks and the sounds of children playing, nothing to interrupt the seamless flow of their lives but the changing of the seasons and the ending of another school year. 

The children, I mean. Not the ducks. 

How had Alex gotten from Riverview to wherever the hell he was, now? What had shattered his innocence, his belief that the world was his oyster? What road had he taken, strewn with rocks and hidden tree roots and dark, less traveled paths? And why had he taken it? 

And why hadn't I asked him? Why hadn't I made him a party to the refrain that played in an unending loop through my mind? 

Why did you kill my father? 

Why did you help kill Melissa Scully? 

Why did you let them take Dana? 

Why did they return her months later, near death and incapable of ever having children? 

Why did you save my life? 

And why did you save it, again? 

And again? 

And yet again? 

And, gee, while I'm asking, what the hell do you want from me? 

I didn't have the answers. I wasn't even sure that answers to these questions existed. Or that he'd give them to me, if I asked. 

Was that why I _hadn't_ asked? The fear that the answer was as simple as 'Because they told me to.'? Or as complicated as 'Because I wanted to.'? 

I needed to know. Something. _Anything_. And the man who could tell me was god only knew where, doing god only knew what. 

I sighed and heaved myself to my feet, wondering why I just couldn't leave it alone. 

Was I so buried in the past that only exhumation could pull me into the present, let alone the future? 

I thought and pondered and debated all the way back to the car.And all the way back to the diner. And all through the pot roast and the apple pie a la mode. And all the way back to Dr. Keng's place. 

And I sat in the Auburn and stared at his building, a huge, old brownstone that had been divided up into four separate dwellings, and wondered if Alex were welcome here. If he had his own key. Or if he simply broke in when he wanted, needed to. 

I parked in the carport and headed for the door. He buzzed me in automatically. Second story, rear apartment. 

"Agent Mulder, you're right on time." 

"Promptness is a virtue." 

He had a nice laugh and looked somewhat surprised at what passed for my sense of humor. I had to wonder what the hell Alex had told him. 

"Come on in." 

I followed him into the living room, taking in the huge ceilings,the brick walls, the floors clean enough to go barefoot on, the furniture, including some heirloom pieces... He just let me look around with a bemused grin on his face. It felt like a home. And a beautiful one. 

"Nice place," I murmured, settling on one end of the sofa. He took the other one, gracefully curling one leg under himself. 

"Thanks. Less maintenance than a house and we love the neighborhood. Great frozen custard, around the corner," he grinned and nodded at the picture of himself on the mantel with a child, a little girl. Serious expression on her face, but mischief in her eyes. 

"Your daughter?" Sometimes I live for asking the obvious. 

"Bonnie's just turned three. About a week after her birthday, she somehow became 'almost four'," he smiled for a moment. "But, you didn't come all this way to talk about my angel." 

"Alex Krycek's been called many things, most of them by me, but 'angel' isn't one of them," I answered wryly. Again, he seemed surprised when he found himself laughing, but sobered quickly. 

"Alex is many things," he said quietly. "And, for me, and Bonnie, 'angel' _is_ one of them." 

"Why is that?" I frowned, turning a little to meet him more face-to-face. 

"He saved her life, Agent Mulder." 

Whoa. 

"Call me Fox, Doctor. Please." Can't believe I can say that, now, without stuttering. Shit, what he's done to me. 

"Chae, then, Fox." 

Chae looked at the picture for a silent moment before sighing and meeting my eyes again. 

"Alex was... visiting us last year. Around the holidays. I was working, trying to catch up so I could spend some time with my family. A doctor doesn't have a lot of free time, especially a pediatrician in the middle of cold and flu season." 

He trailed off and I nodded encouragingly. 

"My wife, Teresa, and Bonnie were out with Alex, shopping, doing some last minute things. Terry was driving. They were heading home, taking Old Summer Hill Road, it's usually the cleanest when the weather turns foul, and it was snowing just a bit. Not enough to really accumulate, just enough to make the roads icy." 

For some reason, I almost felt like moving closer to the guy. I thought I could see where this was going. Obviously, the wife was no longer around. And asking _that_ particular question was totally beyond me. 

"She was a good driver. She would have been fine. If it hadn't have been for the deer." 

He smiled sadly at my flinch. 

"I'm so sorry." 

Chae nodded slowly and sighed, eyes flicking back to the picture on the mantel. 

"She swerved to avoid hitting the damned thing and slid off the road. It was the only thing she could do. The deer might have gone through the windshield. Could've killed them all. Anyway, the car rolled, slammed into a tree, and the gas tank ruptured." 

"Ohh, god," I had to look away. 

"Yeah," he swallowed heavily. "The car landed on its side with Alex's door up, so he got out okay, injured, but ambulatory. The fire beat him back three times, but he got Bonnie out through the rear windshield. Damned near melted the prothesis off to do it, but he did it, god bless him." 

He had to stop and I didn't say anything, couldn't. 

"He couldn't... he couldn't get Terry out, Fox. Short of moving the car, which he actually tried to do, believe it or not, he couldn't get her out. She was pinned in the car, her side was caved in, another tree was blocking the front windshield, and he couldn't get her out the back. It was hotter than hell, it had to've been. Scorch marks on the tree were twenty feet high. You can still see them, to this day." 

Another pause, to drag his hand through his hair. 

"He'd put Bonnie down a safe distance away, in case the car exploded, and tried to find a way to get my wife out. He couldn't do it. There was no way; if there had been, he'd have found it. There's never been any doubt in my mind. I _know_ it. Just as I know that he couldn't let her suffer. She was conscious and he just couldn't let her suffer, Fox. And she would have been in agony, until either the car blew up or she... burned to... death. Help was at least twenty minutes away. An eternity..." 

Chae trailed off. I stayed quiet, letting him tell me what he needed to at his own pace. 

"The human brain is well-insulated and protected, did you know that?" he asked me in a whisper. 

I nodded. Yeah, I knew that, my former partner had been a forensic doctor. Who'd thanked god for my hard head more than once. 

"It's about the last part of the body to be destroyed, in cases of fire. And functions until the last possible moment, sending pain signals throughout the body, as it burns." I knew that, too. Fire was my enemy; I hated it. And I had all but profiled the hell out of it, back at Oxford. I knew what it could do to a human being. 

"The heart is also well-protected. It keeps working, keeping... keeping the person alive..." 

Chae didn't go on and I just stared numbly back at him as he looked at me fiercely, waiting for me to get it, waiting for the light to dawn. Hell, I didn't _want_ to get it, but he was ruthless. 

"I've never been so grateful in my life for the fact that Alex goes nowhere without a gun." 

"Oh, my god!" 

I could barely get enough air to breathe with, let alone speak. 

"He had no choice, Fox. None. And I couldn't hate him for it, I just couldn't. The man had been closer than family to me for years. He'd have hacked off his _other_ arm, if it had meant saving Terry. I knew that. He didn't even have to tell me what he'd done, the fire had destroyed the evidence, but he did. Later, here." 

He answered my unspoken question immediately. 

"He left the scene as soon as the ambulance got there. He couldn't go to the ER with Bonnie; he was still wanted by all manner of people, good and not-so-good. And any report of him would have sent the alarm bells off." 

"What about Bonnie?" I asked. 

"She was burned across her chest and down one arm, but not dangerously injured. And she wasn't talking much. Shock and fear. She couldn't even say her own name, really, so no one knew who she was. Someone finally recognized her, got a hold of me and I stayed in the ER with her until she was asleep and they shooed me out. I hated letting them, but I had to find Alex. When I came home, there he was, almost unconscious and still fully-clothed, in the bathtub." 

He shook his head and sighed. 

"He was such a wreck about Terry, he didn't realize how bad off he was. I tried to get his prosthetic off without taking any more of him with it than necessary. It had melted to the rest of his arm. Fortunately, he'd had the presence of mind to ice it and, following so soon after the heat stress from melting, it mostly cracked right off him." 

I winced, I couldn't help it. 

"If he hadn't had it, I don't know if he'd have been able to bear the heat of the fire on that arm long enough to get Bonnie out. That was the one he used to free her from the child seat," he mused quietly. 

"I helped him get a new prosthetic, for when his arm healed enough to wear it, and divided my time between him and Bonnie as they both recovered and the three of us grieved and tried to go on with the business of living. Alex stayed into late January, not wanting to leave us alone over Christmas, which was bad enough without Terry. It would've been unbearable without him. Bonnie adores him." 

He smiled when I did and his was just as shaky as mine. 

"She's too young to remember most of it. But she knows her mommy died the week before Christmas." 

There wasn't a damned thing I could do as his eyes filled again. Except move a little closer to where he was. 

"You know what she did, what she told Alex she wanted for her birthday?" 

I just shook my head. 

"She asked him to find her an angel that looked like her mommy,for the Christmas tree, can you believe it? And he did. He did..." he covered his eyes with his hands, shuddering. "I'm sorry." 

"No, _I'm_ sorry. God, Chae, I'm so sorry. I never meant to..." 

"It's not your fault, Fox," he corrected me quickly as he wiped his eyes. "I knew I'd have to talk about it. Only Alex and I knew what really happened, until now." 

"Why did he want you to tell me?" 

"So you'd understand, that even when he is forced to do terrible things, there's always a damned good reason. Always. He just wanted you to know that." 

I nodded. I knew he had good reasons. To him, anyway. I just wasn't always sure about his motives. But it gave me something to think about, I guess. 

We sat in silence for a few moments. God, what Alex had had to do shook me. Badly. It really made me wonder if I wanted my questions answered, after all. 

"Can we talk tomorrow?" I asked Chae quietly, seeing his gaze still resting on the photograph of him and Bonnie. I figured he needed some time alone, right then. 

"Yes, thank you," he murmured gratefully, reaching out to take my hand. "And thanks for listening, Fox. He said you were good at that. You studied psychology, right? Oxford?" 

"Yes. Criminal Psychology," I explained. 

"Ever think about going into private practice?" he asked with what almost passed for a smile. 

"Sometimes," I admitted with a shrug. 

I let him go and we both stood. 

"You going to be okay?" 

"Eventually," he murmured. "Think I'll go watch Bonnie sleep for a while. Incredibly therapeutic." 

His sad smile echoed mine for a moment, enough to let me know it was okay to leave him. 

"I'll see you tomorrow." 

"I'm looking forward to it, Fox." 

"I'm looking forward to hearing about Alex." 

"You want dirt?" he asked with a shaky grin. 

"I want dirt," I grinned back. 

"I got dirt." 

"Then, I'm really looking forward to it." 

He chuckled a little as he walked me to the door. 

"Around lunchtime? One okay? Come hungry." 

"Sounds good. I'll see you then." 

We shook hands and I left, slowly walking to where I'd left the car. I was so damned drained and distracted I didn't even notice the note on the windshield until I'd gotten in and put the key in the ignition. 

I whipped it out from under the wiper blade and opened it. Shit, he was _here_ , had been right _here_. 

_Drive around the block slowly. Come back here and go up  
to Chae's. Ten minutes. Minimum. _

A 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Eleventh in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
Possibly a hankie warning, for this one.   
More to come...   
Weft - Rattling by Amirin [email removed] #137   
---


	12. Rolling

  
**Weft - Rolling  
by Amirin**

  
I just sat there for a moment, then started the car and started around the block. What the hell was Alex doing? Getting me out of the way? Why? Just to talk with Chae? Ten minutes wasn't much time to catch up. 

And why tell me to go back? Chae would've told him where I was staying; he could've come to see me. Hell, he could've followed me back to the hotel. 

Unless he was in trouble. 

Shit. 

My hands tightened around the steering wheel and I had to force my foot off the gas to keep from flooring it back to Chae's. Something was wrong, I just knew it. 

Why go see Chae? 

He wanted to see me, just not right away. 

He wanted to see the good doctor. 

The good doctor. 

Fuck. 

"He's hurt." 

As soon as I said it out loud, I knew it was the truth. My foot found the gas with a vengeance and I was back at Chae's place in less than a minute. 

Out of the car and lucky enough to get the front door for one of the other residents as she was leaving, so Chae and Alex didn't even have to know I was on my way up. 

My heart cramped when I found his door standing open and I had my gun drawn without even thinking about it as I made my way back through the place, into the living room, down the hall, and finally heard voices coming from one of the bedrooms. Just the two of them. Chae sounding pissed and Alex, defensive. 

I walked silently into the bedroom, guest room... Alex's room? 

Jesus, blood on the floor, blood-soaked pair of jeans tossed onto the tile in the adjoining bathroom, the doctor on the bed, working on Alex's leg, and blocking my view of him. 

"Alex?" 

Chae whipped around at my voice and I moved to where Alex could see me. He was leaning back against pillows almost as white as his face was, wearing a black turtleneck and matching briefs. 

"You're early," he said, resignation in his voice. Almost like he expected I would be. 

"You're hurt." 

"Yeah," he said, wincing as Chae wrapped something around his thigh. 

"What happened?" 

"Got shot," he mumbled absently, then looked up at my curse and immediately backtracked. 

"I'm okay, it just grazed me." 

"You got lucky," Chae muttered, then leaned back to survey his work. "Stay off of it..." 

"...Rest, keep it elevated, take the meds, call you if it starts feeling hot or swollen, blah, blah, blah." 

"We've been down this road before," Chae sighed. 

"More than a few times," Alex nodded. 

"Are you going to take care of yourself, this time?" Chae growled at him. 

"Yes," I answered for him as I put my gun away. "He is." 

Alex looked up at me, wary and frowning. 

"You are, Alex. If I have to cuff you to the bed, you are." 

Well, that remark was a mistake as soon as I said it, if the grin on Alex's face was any indication. 

"Mulder, Mulder, Mulder," he drawled. "You surprise me. Pleasantly, I might add." 

"Fuck you," I muttered. Chae snorted and looked away, then back at me. 

"Does he need anything? He mentioned meds." 

"I've got it all, here," the doctor answered with a long-suffering sigh. 

I glared at Alex but he just grinned and leaned back against the pillows. 

"Been down this road, before," he repeated, shrugging. 

"Apparently," I said wryly, eyes roaming over the rest of him, looking for further damage. He caught me. 

"I'm fine," he said quietly. 

"You need to get into another line of work," Chae remarked with a grin on his face, but genuine concern in his eyes. "You're starting to attract bullets like a magnet." 

He deliberately ignored Alex's heated look and stood, heading to the bedroom door. 

"I'll get what he needs, Fox." 

"Thanks." 

Alex was looking at the wall, the door, the floor, everywhere but at me. 

"What happened?" 

"I'll tell you, later." 

"Do you want to stay here?" I asked him. 

He shook his head at me. 

"I never do. Not when I'm wounded." 

"Then you're staying with me. I'm at the Manor Inn." 

"Mulder..." 

"Do the words 'cuff you to the bed' ring any bells?" I reminded him and he sighed. 

"Fine." 

Chae came back in with a bag of medical supplies. 

"Everything should be in here. If you need help, call." 

"I've been shot a time or two, I think I remember what Scully used to do for me." 

" _Now_ I'm in trouble," Alex muttered under his breath, but not far enough. 

"Shut up." 

"I'll get you something to wear," Chae offered, looking at the jeans, more red than blue, on the bathroom floor. 

"Thanks," Alex called after him as he left the room, again. 

"No problem," Chae called back. 

I didn't say anything to Alex, just sat next to him and took inventory of all the bruises, old scars, new ones. And those were on just the parts of him I _could_ see. I didn't meet his eyes and I knew he was looking at me. Finally, he got tired of it. 

"See anything you like?" 

I sighed. It was going to be a long night; I could tell, already. 

"That 'Z' shaped scar is attractive," I shot back, eyeing the one just above his knee. "Where you get that?" 

"Mexico," he murmured, running his fingers over it absently. 

"You do get around. What were you doing in Mexico?" 

"Just... things." 

"Uh, huh. How'd you get it?" 

"Guy in black gave it to me. With a blade." 

I counted to ten. 

"Wears a mask?" 

"Oh, you know him." 

"Alex," I growled, just as Chae came back into the room. He looked at me curiously. 

"I can go back out," he offered. 

Alex laughed. 

"No, it's okay. I think we're leaving." 

I nodded. 

"Yeah, we're leaving." 

"We still on for lunch, tomorrow?" Chae grinned at me. 

"Hell, yes," I answered immediately. "I still want dirt." 

We exchanged a smile at Alex's narrowed eyes. 

"If he hasn't given you the slip, bring him along." 

"He won't be going anywhere," I promised with an evil grin. 

"Mulder," Alex protested instantly. 

"'Cuff you to the bed'," I reached over and tickled the bottom of the foot on the uninjured leg and he jerked it away and grumbled at me in Russian. 

"That didn't sound particularly complimentary," Chae offered helpfully. 

"No, it didn't, did it?" I replied with a thoughtful frown. 

"Will you two just _shut up_!? 

Chae snorted at Alex's outburst and looked at me. We shared an exaggerated sigh and Alex growled again as he tugged on the sweatpants Chae had brought him. 

"Do you need help getting him to the car?" he asked seriously. 

"Nah, I got him. Thanks." 

"Okay, you should be set. Call me if there are any problems." 

"Thank you," I said quietly and he smiled in understanding. 

"Always welcome." 

I stood and gave Alex a hand up, which he almost didn't take. He finally sighed, put his arm around me and I grabbed the bag of supplies off the bed. 

Chae walked us to the door and watched our departure until we made it to the stairs, which gave me pause for a moment until Alex let go of me and sat down on the polished-wood bannister and leaned back against the iron railing behind it. He looked up at me with a smug grin as he started sliding to the bottom. I walked a step behind, keeping pace with him until he gracefully, carefully, hopped off at the end. 

We maneuvered through the door and made our way to the Auburn, which he looked at with a warm grin. 

"Hey, old lady," he murmured fondly, as I got him into the seat and buckled him in, unable to keep myself from inhaling the scent and heat of him. He sighed and let me, with a quick brush of his fingers through my hair. It was all I could do to shut the door. 

"You two know each other?" I asked, coming around the front and getting in. 

"She was my grandfather's," he said, softly, leaning back with a grin. "I learned how to drive in this car." 

"She's gorgeous," I told him sincerely and he rolled his head over at me with a genuine smile on his face. It totally transformed him. 

"Yeah, she is." 

He just looked at me, didn't say anything else. I leaned over and kissed him. He tasted just as good as I remembered. Better, even. 

I eased back slowly and started the car after refilling my lungs. 

"So. Talk to me. What the hell happened?" 

He sighed. 

"It's a long story." 

"We've got all night," I reminded him and glanced his way before pulling out into traffic. 

"Yeah," he murmured, smile still curving the corners of his mouth. "We certainly do." 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered.Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Twelfth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Rolling by Amirin [email removed] #138   
---


	13. Sleeping

  
**Weft - Sleeping  
by Amirin**

  
Alex melted into the seat with a sigh as I turned the corner and headed down the street. His eyes closed, opened again, then slid shut and stayed that way. I rested my hand briefly on his knee until I needed it back to shift gears and he smiled slightly in my general direction and melted a little more. 

That was fifteen minutes ago and he hasn't stirred since. 

At the moment, I think he's asleep. 

Maybe. 

Or maybe he's just trying to avoid talking to me. Either way, he's got a right. Getting shot can take a lot out of a guy. Talking can take even more. 

Asleep or not, I'm flattered. Flattered that he can lower his guard enough to shut his eyes in my presence, let alone sleep. Assuming that he is, of course. 

I seriously doubt Alex thinks he has anything to worry about. He's probably armed to the teeth and I look him over, trying to decide where he's stashed the weapons he's got to be carrying. He'd either be an idiot or dead if he didn't have a small arsenal on him and Alex Krycek is neither, believe me. 

The injured leg is stretched out in front of him as far as it can be, which isn't all that far in the Auburn, but I suppose he's comfortable enough. Or just so used to being _un_ comfortable that he's actually comfortable... 

Whatever. 

Christ, I need some sleep. 

His exhaustion is contagious and I can feel it seeping into every pore, glazing my eyes over, making them gritty and achy. 

He's still mostly facing me and the street lights are turning him the most bizarre colors. Pale orange. Bluish white. Yellow. No reflection off the earring, though; he isn't wearing it. Makes sense. If he'd been doing anything that required the cover of darkness, he wouldn't have wanted the golden flash to give him away. 

I notice he hasn't shaved for at least a couple of days, probably since I saw him last. So, even asleep, he looks damned dangerous. Maybe it's all the leather, leather, leather. Jacket, gloves, boots. Jesus, how many cows have died to keep this man in leather? Maybe _that_ explains all the exsanguinations on cattle. ET's got a fetish. 

Shit, I'm tired. 

We're almost at the hotel. Thank god. I'm in no shape to drive much farther. 

Chae is a fascinating man. One who has a room available for his childhood best friend, who keeps first aid supplies on hand, who stocks painkillers galore, all for Alex. I wonder how many injuries he's patched up, over the years? It staggers the imagination, it really does. 

And how did Alex get this one? How the hell did he get _shot_? 

Dammit. 

I'm practically on _vacation_ , for Christ's sake, courtesy of the Alex Krycek Travel Agency, and he's out there getting himself _shot_ , this is nuts, totally... 

"You're thinking," he mumbles quietly, distracting me. "You're not supposed to do that." 

"Still?" 

He chuckles roughly and the eyes struggle to open. It takes him a few tries, but he makes it. Stubborn asshole. 

"Fuck, I'm crashing. We're talking Roswell, here, Fox." 

Him and me, both. The adrenaline is wearing off, the earlier surge of fear ebbing... Never thought I'd see the day that any fear I had _of_ him, would transmute into fear _for_ him. Do I tell him? Maybe later, if I think he needs a good laugh. 

"We're almost there." 

"There?" 

"The hotel. I got a king-sized room out of habit." 

"Nice habit to have." 

"It's all your fault. Unfortunately, they don't have room service." 

"Poor Fox. Blows real hard to be you, my friend. Absolutely blows." 

Another chuckle and I'm feeling warped enough to join him as I turn into the lot and park as close to the door near my room as I can. The place is shaped like an 'H', with all the rooms interior. Six ways in and the room key opens every exit door. Convenient. 

I get out of the car and find myself leaning on the hood as I come around to get Alex. He has the door open and the bag of supplies in his hand, but that's as far as he's gotten. 

I stoop a bit and my arm fits perfectly under his shoulder, so he can use me as a crutch. I have to support most of his weight until he gets his legs under him. We make our way carefully through the door, down the hall, and into the room,my steps matching his as slowly as he needs to take them. 

I unlock the door and he hits the light out with the bag, which gets tossed onto the dresser to our right. The key joins it and we both stagger to the bed on our left with identical groans. 

"Christ, we're pathetic," he observes. 

It's an observation I can live without. 

"Speak for yourself," I grumble, but shove the covers aside and ease him down gently. A yawn damned near cracks my skull in two as I kneel to get his boots off while he fights his way out of the jacket in the not-quite-darkness.The light coming in from the parking lot through the drapes behind him is more than enough to see by, but I don't need light to hear the tell-tale, and expected, thumps of whatever he's packing hitting the floor when the jacket does. 

I make my way carefully around furniture to the bathroom, get him some water, grab the bag of supplies, and dig around for the bottles of prescription drugs. 

"One of each," he informs me around a wide yawn and I nod, popping open the pain-killer and antibiotics with my thumb and noting absently that Chae was thoughtful enough to give him bottles he can open one-handed. 

He takes the pills, then the water, drains the glass, and murmurs a soft 'thanks' at me before settling down into the bed. I run a hand through his hair and make a mental note to let him shower first in the morning. He tries to peel his eyes open enough to look up at me but he's not entirely successful. 

"I really don't want to sleep in the sweats," he complains softly and uses the heel of his hand to try and clear his eyes. Yeah, I know how well that works. Like not at all. 

I kick my shoes under the bed, not even bothering with the laces, and reach down to help him get his pants off. 

Believe me when I tell you that I'm perfectly aware of what that sounds like. 

Really. 

But we're both too dead for it to be anything more than what it is. A prelude to sleep. That's it. Nothing more. 

Oh, hell, who am I trying to kid? 

He arches up just enough to help me and crashes back into the clean, cool sheets with a sigh damned close to ecstatic as I strip the sweats down and off his legs. His arm crawls over his head to tug the turtleneck off his body, down the arm, and onto the floor. A few tugs and curses, the sound of velcro letting go and snaps unsnapping, and the prosthesis joins the shirt with a muted thud. And now he's naked except for the black briefs and the bandage around his thigh. 

I crawl over him to get to my side of the bed. 

And enjoy the trip far more than I should. 

I wriggle out of as much of my clothing as I can be bothered with and flip the sheets over us, leaving the blankets by our feet. I don't need a lot of covers; I just get tangled up in them when I start dreaming. 

So, here we are. Stripped down to our underwear, in the same bed, together. And if he pulls a gun from somewhere, I'll probably _ask_ him to shoot me, just so I can get some damned sleep. 

He doesn't say anything, just turns his head toward me and fights another battle to open his eyes. I admire his willpower, but don't want him to waste the energy, so I cover them with my hand. He stills, but doesn't freeze up on me or flinch at my touch. I'm awake enough for that to make me absurdly happy. 

"Sleep," I murmur and move my hand, only to have his reach out and take it. 

"Try and stop me," he mumbles. 

"I value my life." 

"Smart man." 

He doesn't let go of me. I'm on my side, facing him, he's leaning towards me... loosely holding my hand against his chest. 

Weird. But not. 

"No cuffs?" he asks quietly, an unseen grin coloring his voice. 

"Maybe some other time," I answer dryly. 

"And I was so looking forward to it." 

"Get used to disappointment, Alex." 

He pries his eyes open just enough to meet mine. 

"You could never be a disappointment, Fox," he mutters then lets them slide shut again. 

"Don't go wandering off. Please." 

He rolls over just a little more, toward me, not away from me. 

"I'll be here," he sighs into a yawn. 

"You'd better be. 'Night, Alex." 

"Yeah," he breathes and all is quiet. 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Thirteenth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Sleeping by Amirin [email removed] #140   
---


	14. Waking

Go to notes and disclaimers

  
**Weft - Waking  
by Amirin**

  
I don't know how long we slept, but it was just turning light outside when I finally surfaced. Which, admittedly, amazed the hell out of me, because we'd both been dead to the world by ten or so, at the latest, and it had to be around six, now. 

We'd started out with some space between us, but the distance had lessened considerably sometime during the night, leaving him right next to me. 

The room was early-morning cool and I could feel the heat coming off of him so I moved closer to the source. Tried to tell myself it was easier than getting the covers up off the floor and back onto the bed. 

And it probably was easier. But that wasn't the only reason I gravitated toward him. 

And I knew it. 

My forehead found his shoulder of its own accord and Alex was barely conscious enough to acknowledge it, even though I was leaning on the one that didn't have an arm attached to it anymore. My shoulder fit perfectly into the void where his arm left off, scar tissue rough against my neck, my chest touching his side. 

For all that it sounds like I've totally lost my mind, it felt good. 

My hand on his chest, the shallow, rhythmic breathing almost hypnotic. His heartbeat, echoing against my wrist. Soft exhalations stirring the hair on my forehead. 

See what I mean? It was... nice. 

And then he moved, smoothly, slowly, like oil, and his mouth was on mine and I felt his sigh, a soft sound against the hard scratch of stubble on my face, and he was hot, so hot, and when his tongue caught mine, I caught fire. His hand was in my hair, tight, but not painful, holding me still, like he thought I planned on either fighting him or running away. 

Not hardly. 

I swear I honestly didn't remember he only had one hand. It was everywhere, on my face, stroking my arm, rubbing my back, resting on my hip for a moment and the kiss went on, my hands all over him, reading the raised scars on his body like braille on linen. He was strong and careful, all that lethal power still sleeping, and I thought about every time I'd ever hit him, hurt him, and knew he'd been holding himself in check, because the body under my hands was that of a killer, a man who could've broken me in half back then and who could, right now, if he wanted to. 

And he felt so damned good. 

Jesus. 

I forgot about his wound until his groan reminded me and I heard more than pleasure in the sound of it and did a quick hand-check and felt gauze under my fingers. I yanked my hand away and moved back, checking to see that he was all right, knowing I didn't want to hurt him. Not now. Not ever again. 

"Sorry." 

"S'okay," he whispered, tongue leaving hot streaks on my neck, thumb making first one nipple on my chest tighten and throb, then the other one, and I felt my way up his leg, fingertips caressing his inner thigh. He opened tome with a sigh and a rough chuckle and a slow, firm caress of his own that just about brought me off the bed with a curse. 

He backed off with obvious reluctance and a not-so-obvious grin, and darted in time and again for quick kisses more given than stolen before he settled at my side, the palm of his hand stroking my chest with calculated carelessness as his head rested warm and heavy on my shoulder. 

And I couldn't help wondering if it was all some sort of test, to see how I'd react to him, to this, to his touch, his mouth... 

Briefly debated getting pissed off, but I wasn't, really, and I knew he'd know. If he wanted me angry, he could make me angry, far too damned easily. He knew where the buttons were and he'd never been shy about pushing them. 

So, if he didn't want me pissed, what the hell _did_ he want? Just some kind of assurance that I wasn't going to shoot him for kissing me? That he could make me respond to physical provocation with something other than anger and violence? That last night's notable abstinence from my usual habit of beating him up hadn't just been exhaustion on my part? That the days of using his face to sharpen my knuckles on were over? 

_What_? 

I brushed my fingers over his back, lightly enough to make him shiver, and rubbed it away while my other hand took his and held it still. He waited in silence, not tense, simply waiting, for me to speak, or move, or whatever I was supposed to do now. 

I had no _idea_ what the hell I was supposed to do now. 

I briefly thought about asking him but didn't know if he'd be able to stop laughing long enough to answer me intelligently. 

"How's the leg?" I asked him quietly, voice still rough with sleep. 

"Good," he answered with an easy shrug, eloquent as ever. 

I moved my hand from his back to his shoulder, the one without an arm attached, and ghosted my hand over it gently, waiting for a negative reaction on his part. 

The provocation was my own, this time, and just as purposeful as his had been. I needed to know, as badly as he did, where the new boundaries were. 

The hell with boundaries, I was looking out for land mines. Anything that might make the assassin-in-stasis explode from the illusory veneer of civilized man seemingly at rest in my bed. 

I wasn't an idiot. I honestly didn't _want_ to make Alex angry; I simply needed to know what _could_ in a setting as non-threatening and neutral as I could possibly make it. 

As for the anticipated and unpleasant reaction on his part, I didn't get it. I barely got _any_ reaction from him, at all. 

His breathing got a little more measured, a little more deliberate, like he was trying to _keep_ from reacting badly, the closer I got to the scars at the end of his arm. One of his fingers twitched slightly in my other hand and he released a tension I didn't know he was carrying when I finally moved my hand out of his danger zone and just traced the lines of shoulder and backbone and clavicle with a fingertip. 

"I won't hurt you," I whispered and hoped it sounded like the promise it was. 

Apparently, it did. 

"Okay," he replied, his hand tightening momentarily around mine. 

We lay there in restful quiet, breathing and being in tandem through no real effort of our own. He aborted an attempt to reposition his leg and inhaled a little too sharply. 

"Time for more meds?" 

It was more statement than question, but he nodded. 

"If I don't eat something, the antibiotic will make me sicker than hell." 

"Then let's get you fed." 

"I really don't want to be around... people, right now. _Other_ people," he amended quickly and went on to explain at my frown. 

"Folks around here notice things like limps just like they noticed the arm. I don't want to deal with it." 

"But, you know these people," I protested, not getting it. 

"They don't know I'm here yet and I really don't want to have to make the rounds, everyone wanting to know what happened, me having to dish out the same load of bullshit fifty times over... They already think I'm the clumsiest bastard ever to walk the face of the earth." 

"Okay, okay. I get it," I grinned slightly. "Welcome to smalltown living, huh?" 

"Yeah," he answered with something that was almost a smile. 

"Not a problem. The diner has carry-out. We can go eat in the park. If you want to." 

"Sounds good. Thanks." 

It was definitely a smile that time. 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Fourteenth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at:<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Waking by Amirin [email removed] #141   
---


	15. Coming

  
**Weft - Coming  
by Amirin**

  
I grabbed a quick shower, in spite of last night's intention to let Alex go first. I didn't want to make him feel rushed or awkward, trying to get done quickly to let me take my turn. It made more sense for me to get finished, go get breakfast, and leave him the privacy he was used to. 

Plus, he was moving slowly, allowing for the pain and having one hand. In spite of the fact that things were... becoming almost comfortable, my watching him made him edgy. And I didn't want that. 

"Anything in particular you want, while I'm out?" 

"Food," he said succinctly, prompting a snort from me. 

"That's a given. Anything else?" 

He shook his head around a yawn. 

"Okay. Whatever you need to borrow of mine, go ahead. All right?" 

"Yeah." 

"Be back soon." 

"I'm not going anywhere." 

It was said softly, but the promise came through loud and clear. I think my smile startled him. 

"Good." 

Also said softly, but the satisfaction was just as loud as his promise had been. The memory of his answering grin stayed with me all through getting breakfast, easily enough for four, but I didn't know how long it had been since he last ate. 

When I got back, I found him, showered, unshaven, and half-dressed in my clothes, head in his hand, fingers curled into claws through his hair. He was grey, absolutely grey. 

The bags hit the dresser as I made my way to kneel in front of him, one hand right below the fresh dressing covering his wound. His leg was quivering under my fingers. 

"Alex? Hey..." 

"I'm fine." 

"Sure you are." 

He snorted and looked up with a deep breath that didn't seem to help much. 

"I'm all right. Just painfully aware of the fact that I'm not a kid anymore." 

"Who among us is?" I shot back. 

He sighed and looked over at the bags. His eyes widened as the ghost of a smile touched his lips. 

"Are you expecting company?" 

"I'm hungry," I shrugged. "And I figured you might be, too." 

I got up, caught the paper sacks with one hand and the bottles of meds with the other, and tossed them next to him. Watched him open everything with one hand. Christ, he made it look so easy. 

"Hey, fresh bagels," he exclaimed with quiet delight. "Cream cheese?" 

"Who do you think you're talking to?" I pretended to take offense, only to have him whap me on the end of my nose with the plastic knife. 

It startled a laugh out of me, which made him look a little wary until he saw the grin hadn't left my face. 

"Weren't we going to the park?" he asked, but it was half-hearted, at best. 

"After you eat," I informed him in a voice he decided not to argue with. 

He relaxed back into the pillows with a sigh then dug into the other sacks as I crawled next to him. We moved everything in between us and got down to the business of eating. 

Or, rather, I ate, he _devoured_. 

One of the large coffees was gone before his second bagel was, the orange juice, history, as he plowed through the sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich, and he inhaled four glasses of ice water with the waffles and fruit. Somewhere in there, he managed to find room for the pills and the last of the greyness finally left his face. By the time we were done, we had a couple of bananas and the last two bagels left and damn me if he wasn't eyeing those, as well. 

"Done?" I asked wryly. 

He shrugged. "Maybe. For now." 

I shook my head and he grinned a little. 

"Kidding. I'm kidding." 

"I know." 

"If I eat anymore, I'll explode." 

"Good stuff," I sighed with sated satisfaction. 

"Yeah," he rubbed his face with his hand, then grimaced at his leg. "I should take a walk. Work out the stiffness." 

"We could hit that trail around the lake." 

So what if I was basically inviting myself to go along. Sue me. I didn't want to let him out of my sight. 

"Sounds good." 

He moved carefully off of the bed, put the sweats on, and only winced a bit when he stomped gently into the boots. Everything else he was wearing, skin out, was mine. And I didn't mind at all. 

He reached out for his leather jacket, the more battered of the two on the chair, and frowned at a stain on the front of it which he tried to rub away with his thumb. Blood, probably. His? Who knows...? 

"You look completely disreputable." 

"I _am_ completely disreputable," he reminded me with a smirk. 

"You need a shave." 

"Later. It's too... complicated," he waved my suggestion away without bristling. It felt like progress. 

"I can do it for you. If you want. Depending on how much you can trust me with a razor next to your throat." 

He actually seemed to consider it, but his head was shaking its way toward 'no' before he even answered. 

"We're going to Chae's," I coaxed, shamelessly. "And Bonnie will be there. You look... dangerous." 

"Bonnie is used to my looking... dangerous," he snorted with a grin that echoed his fondness for his best friend's daughter. "You're talking about a kid who used to sleep curled up with my arm when I wasn't wearing the damned thing, Mulder. She's used to a lot." 

I sighed. 

And he capitulated. Just like that. 

"Okay. Thanks." 

And then had the nerve to grin at my obvious astonishment as he tossed his jacket onto the chair. 

"Stay here." 

I didn't mean for it to sound like an order but he could've taken it that way, regardless, and responded accordingly. He didn't, though, and it occurred to me that that should have surprised me. 

I grabbed a couple of towels and decided not to worry about it while one of them was soaking in hot water as I got the rest of the stuff together. 

Maybe, just maybe, he was getting used to me, too. 

I let him soften the stubble with the hot towel, put the other around his neck to catch the drips, and opened the curtains enough to give me the light needed to do this without scarring him for life. More than he was, already. 

It didn't take long. The first side of his face was a little awkward, like putting a tie on backwards, but by the time I got to his chin and throat, it was pretty easy. I only nicked him once, right in front of his ear, but didn't even notice it until I was finishing the other side of his face and saw the tiny spot of blood. If he'd felt it when it happened, he hadn't reacted. 

He looked perfectly... normal when I was done. Minus the missing arm, the bullet wound, and the scars from things I didn't want to think about. 

I used the somewhat-cooler towel to get the last of the soap off of him and he took it from me to scrub his face clean. That was when he noticed the smear of blood from the cut. 

"Sorry," I murmured, smoothing over the spot with my thumb. "I got you." 

"Don't worry about it," he said quietly and grinned. "Better than I could do." 

I snorted and brushed over the place again, swiping at the last of the blood with my finger. Which he intercepted before I could clean it off on the towel. 

Apparently, he thought his tongue could do the job better. 

I didn't argue. The temptation to whack him over the head with a blunt instrument became almost unbearable at the smirk on his face, however, but restraint prevailed. 

I think I actually disappointed him. So I kissed him. That seemed to make it better. To be honest, I think it made it a _lot_ better. I felt a lot better, at any rate. 

I felt him, too. Melting into me like heated paraffin. Mouth on mine. Tongue on mine. Hand on mine. Hungry. Hot. 

Christ. 

I was nipping at the earlobe with the hole in it, missing... missing the... 

"Where's the earring?" 

"What are you, fascinated with shiny objects?" 

"Alex. Where is it?" 

"Inside pocket of my jacket." 

"Get it." 

"Christ, you're demented." 

He pushed away from me with a martyred sigh and snagged his jacket, rummaged through the interior briefly, tossed it aside, then prowled back over and held the gold hoop out to me on the palm of his hand. I took it, flicked open the catch on the bar, and crooked my finger at him. A slight glare, combined with a roll of his eyes, and he sat back down next to me, cocked his head to the side, and waved at me with a 'get the fuck on with it, already' look on his face. 

I almost laughed. Didn't but came close. Damned close. 

It only took a second to thread it back through the hole and press it shut. His eyebrow arched when I nodded in approval. 

"All better, now?" he asked smarmily. 

"Asshole," I muttered, but it was half-hearted at best and he snorted. Then shrugged. 

"Whatever makes you happy, Mulder." 

I pulled him back towards me and continued from where I'd left off and he sighed shakily. 

"There are advantages to making me happy," I whispered into the ear I was licking. 

"Whatever," he breathed, hand slipping into my back pocket to pull me tighter against him, legs tangling through and around mine as we fell backward onto the bed, me slightly off to the side, to avoid landing on his injured leg. 

He rolled me under him, fingers kneading my ass like a nursing kitten, propped up on his other arm, the non-flesh hard and unyielding next to my head as he went after my mouth with the same intensity with which he'd inhaled breakfast, earlier. The same ruthless determination I'd come to expect from him, the same single-minded attention to detail he'd always shown, and then my hand on the back of his head, fingers in his hair, his hand pushing me into him, all along the hard length of him, grinding against me, a slow, sinuous roll of hip and thigh and Christ! the totally ungentle nip of teeth on my neck, breathless, frantic whimpers, who was whimpering? shit, I was, I'll never hear the end of this, fuck, and it occurred to me, hey, I've got two hands, where the hell's the other one and found it, classic case of the right not knowing what the left was doing, until it burrowed under an elastic waistband, and another and, oh, yeah, right on his ass, warm muscle flexing and clenching under my fingers, and weight shifted, his hand moving, leaving me cooler where it had been until it found my fly and the zipper was down, followed by my jeans, and his hand was on me. 

Jesus. 

I was gasping like a landed fish and struggling with his clothes, sliding them down, but not able to get them off and it didn't really matter a damn when we collided, flesh on flesh, my hand in perfect counterpoint to his, same rhythm, same need, both groaning, his face in my shoulder, body wire-hard and shaking against mine as I held him to me, arm wrapped around his waist like a python, his thumb over the head of my cock, angling for the slit, and then my cry, lost in his hair, followed by his just seconds later, fighting its way between gritted teeth as he spasmed and collapsed, boneless and heavy, sweating and shivering, at my side. 

And silence. And growing worry on my part when I gathered enough brain cells together to realize he was still shaking, until it hit me, harder than I'd ever hit him. 

He was laughing again. 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story involves sex between two men, aka slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Fifteenth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at: <http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Coming by Amirin [email removed] #144   
---


	16. Going

  
**Weft - Going  
by Amirin**

  
I just held him in silence until he looked up at me and snickered. 

"Care to share with the rest of the class?" I asked, less pissed than amazed that he _could_ laugh like this, with me, here. In a hotel room, in a bed, still mostly-dressed, sticky and cooling against each other, and... 

I guess it was pretty damned funny, after all. 

"Oh, Christ," he gasped, breath hitching and uneven as he rubbed a trickle of sweat off on my shoulder. He fumbled behind himself for the twisted mass of sheet and wiped his hand off, then tugged on more of it to clean us both up. Or tried to. The effort was appreciated, anyway. 

I reached over and grabbed the now-cool towel, still damp enough from earlier, and did a slightly better job. 

He was mostly clean, more so than I was, but I had clothes to change into, something I hadn't really thought about until then. 

"We need to get you something else to wear," I mumbled, pitching the towel on the floor and rewrapping my arms around him. 

"We can shop later, after lunch," he mumbled back, doing something I'd almost call 'snuggling' if I weren't talking about Alex Krycek. "Of course, Chae will probably offer to do my laundry when we get there." 

I snorted. "Does he do that often?" 

"Always. Habit," Alex answered in a voice that sounded too relaxed to be called short. 

"Bet he knows a dozen different ways to get rid of bloodstains," I sighed, my fingers combing through his hair. 

"At least," Alex nodded against me with a slightly-blunted version of his usual sharp grin. 

"About the bullet wound..." I started, but he didn't offer anything. And I knew he wouldn't, couldn't. I might get him to confirm or deny, if he was feeling generous, but he wasn't going to just _tell_ me, like... 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Mulder, ask me already. Before you sprain something vital," he rumbled, blinking up at me with drowsy irritation. 

"How'd it happen?" 

I thought that was easy enough. He could tell me as much or as little as he wanted to. His choice. 

"With a gun." 

I waited. And was just about to get a little hot when he started shaking again. 

"Asshole," I snarled without heat, after all. 

"Shit, Mulder..." he started, a snort escaping around the words. 

"What happened to 'Fox'?" I interrupted him, this suddenly more important than why and how he'd gotten shot. And I knew it was important, because the shaking of his not-exactly-laughter abruptly stopped. 

"You don't like it," he admitted quietly and heaved a heavy sigh as he pulled away from me and righted himself slowly, getting his clothing back in order. 

"That's not it," I argued, barely aloud, but he heard me and froze. "You called me 'Fox' in Boston. Hell, you called me 'Fox' last night." 

"I don't want to piss you off." 

"Bullshit. Since when has that ever stopped you?" I zipped my jeans with a sigh and sat up next to him, near, but not close, and wondered what the difference was, between then and now, until I saw his eyes flicker toward his jacket. 

"Naked," he mumbled and shrugged again. 

"What, you feel naked without it?" 

He shook his head. " _Them_ ," he stressed with a smirk, his hand going through his hair. 

"You're not armed," I said with a frown and a slow nod. 

"Mind like a steel trap," he rasped softly. He wasn't exactly smiling. 

"Rusty and illegal in seventeen states," I muttered back and he looked at me, confused, before a weak grin crossed his face. "You can call me 'Fox', Alex. Even if you're not armed with enough weaponry to liberate a small country from the grasp of an evil dictatorship. Okay?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah," I shrugged, getting up slowly and stretching. "Everyone I met in Riverview was calling me 'Fox'. You'll just confuse the hell out of them if we ever go back there." 

I headed to the bathroom and looked back. His eyes were frowning, but his mouth was grinning. Sort of. 

I'd take it. 

Getting cleaned up again didn't take long and little was said until we were back in the Auburn and heading for the park. Alex seemed tired and I was just feeling... hell, I didn't know what I was feeling. 

Dammit, we'd had _sex_. Basically. Pretty much. 

But apparently we couldn't _talk_ to each other without a time zone between us. 

It wasn't like I expected it to mean everything, but if it had meant something more than nothing, I'd be a whole lot happier. 

I probably wouldn't be making any more _sense_ , but I'd be happier. 

"Why are you thinking, again?" Alex whined from the seat next to me, head rolled toward me, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, hands hidden in leather gloves like the jacket he wore that matched my own. "You shouldn't do that. It's bad for your health." 

"Is that a threat?" I snapped without really meaning to and I know damned well his eyes narrowed, even though I couldn't see them. 

"Are you trying to start an argument? With a man carrying enough weaponry to liberate a small country from the grasp of an evil dictatorship?" 

I so love that amused sarcasm. 

Not. 

Shit. 

I sighed and shook my head as I pulled into the park entrance, going around the lake to the same lot I'd used last time, near the same tree. I threw the car into park and killed the ignition and sat there, knowing he was looking at me, not knowing what the hell to do next. 

He had his hand on the door handle and with a, "It never has to happen again, Fox," he was out the door and headed for the trail. 

It didn't take me long to catch up with him but I think he let me. 

"I don't want that," I practically spat at him and he shrugged. 

"Like I said..." 

"That isn't what I meant, Alex. Stop, okay? Just... stop," and I reached out a hand to halt his stiff stride. "I'm not trying to play the ravished virgin, here, all right? I _started_ it, for god's sake." 

"Well, I wasn't going to mention that..." he trailed off, hands in his pockets and head down. 

"Alex." 

"It doesn't have to be more than it is," he offered quietly, looking back up at me. God, I wished I could see his eyes. "Just quit _thinking_ it to death, all right? Shit." 

"I want you," I said softly, more just trying out the words to see if they fit than confessing anything. I think I startled him. 

"Walk with me; we're starting to draw attention," he muttered and I wanted to take the shades off him but I knew he'd flinch away and it would look damned strange to anyone looking. 

We walked in silence for a while until we entered a small wooded area, unpeopled at the moment, and I was just about to open my mouth when he grabbed me and then my back was up against a tree and all I could do was hold on when his mouth came down on mine. I tore the sunglasses off him but it didn't even slow him down, he just kept kissing me, relentlessly, gloved hand behind my head, shielding me from the roughness of the bark, even though there was no protection from the roughness of his kiss, and it went on and on and I couldn't breathe and almost panicked and he knew and gentled immediately and what had been harsh and hot became warm and soft and wet and... God. 

He buried his face in my neck, breathing heavily, and my arms went around him, holding him far too tightly. 

"Stop thinking," he ordered softly into my ear. "Let me do the thinking around here, all right?" And he eased away with a swipe of his hand over his mouth, red and bruised-looking. I bet mine looked the same. 

"That's not going to work forever," I caved, panting, leaning back. Jesus, I'm easy. 

"It doesn't have to work forever," he assured me with a touch of a gloved hand to my face. 

It didn't even occur to me to flinch. Christ, he's gotten me soft. 

And hard. 

Shit. 

I just watched him as he stooped to pick up his shades and put them back on. 

"And another thing," he stated in his warning voice as he pinned me back against the tree with a rock of his hips and a hand tangled in my hair. "Do not _ever_ tell me you want me when I can't do a fucking thing about it without embarrassing the two of us. Got it?" 

I snorted before I saw his lips twitch, which seemed to please him, that I knew he was joking, mostly, even though I couldn't see his eyes. 

"We've got some time before we're due at Chae's," he murmured with a smirk broken only by his lips on mine. "Any ideas?" 

"Maybe," I shrugged, chest heaving against his, leather squeaking on leather. And remembered Boston. And the frog. And couldn't help laughing. 

"Christ," he groaned into a chuckle. "We're _both_ demented." 

"Maybe," I agreed. "Mating frenzy..." 

He laughed roughly and shook his head as he kissed me again, fast and hard. 

"I guess that's one way to put it." 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story involves sex between two men, aka slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Sixteenth in the Tapestry Series.   
Stories also can be found at: <http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Going by Amirin [email removed] #145   
---


	17. Perfect

  
**Weft - Perfect  
by Amirin**

  
The drive back to the hotel passed in near-total silence. And Alex never once looked at me. But his hand didn't leave mine, which was resting on his thigh, and he let me shift gears as I needed to but refused to let go for very long. 

A hell of a lot of gear-shifting was going on, too. 

I tried not to think too much and was only partially successful. I could block out the past somewhat, with effort and distraction, but I couldn't help thinking about the present and wondering at the future. 

Something was still going on. And he still needed my help, if the gunshot wound to the leg was any indication. 

And I really didn't _want_ to think he was letting me do what I pleased with him, giving me what he thought I wanted, just to ensure my cooperation. But how to say that to him without being insulting? And how to bring it up? And when? 

I could mention it before this went any further, but he might think it was part of the bargain. Not a good choice. 

Or bring it up afterward, but it could sound like I was hinting at payment. Even worse. 

Shit. 

"I can hear you thinking again," he warned as I pulled into the same parking space that I had the night before. 

"I need to say something. And I really don't know how," I said softly,throwing the Auburn into park. 

"Spit it out, already." 

"I don't want to make you angry." 

My only answer was a sigh and I turned the engine off. We got out of the car and walked into the hotel, heading to the room in silence. Alex tossed his sunglasses onto the dresser, but didn't take off anything else. And I wasn't sure how to take that. 

"Talk to me, Fox," he ordered quietly, sitting on the edge of the now-made-up bed. "What's on your mind?" 

I walked over and sat next to him, not wanting the physical distance between us. The other kind was bad enough. 

"I know you need help with something. And I _will_ help you, if you'll let me. Whether you take me up on it or not, that's up to you. I hope you will. I just wanted you to know..." I sighed and turned toward him, "the offer's still good. And unconditional. That's all." 

This time my answer was silence. Then, a single nod. And a softly spoken,"Okay." 

"I mean it, Alex. I still want you. But you don't have to do a damned thing to guarantee..." 

And then it got kind of hard to talk with his mouth covering mine. Moaning was real easy, though. I did a lot of that as the kiss went on. It seemed to amuse him, if the shaking was anything to go by. 

He pulled away slowly, dropped another kiss on my lips with a muted chuckle, opened his mouth to say something, shivered a little, groaned, and started kissing me again. It was a hell of a way to make me quit thinking,I've got to admit. Shit, I almost quit breathing while I was at it. 

Finally, Alex eased back, just a bit, barely enough to allow my eyes to focus, and dragged his thumb over my mouth, the leather warm and slick and soft, and I leaned forward, rested my chin on his shoulder, snaked an arm around his waist, and sighed. 

"You'll help me." 

I nodded, even though it sounded more like a statement of fact than a question. 

"Whether anything else happens or not." 

"Yes," I answered. 

I felt him shaking his head against me and reached up to stroke his hair. 

"I'm not saying I think you've been setting me up to help you, manipulating me into anything. I don't want you to think that I believe that." 

"How do you know that that isn't exactly what I've been doing?" he asked quietly, body still, but not tense. Just waiting. 

I shook my head. I didn't know. I didn't believe it, but, granted, I didn't _know_. 

"Why would you?" 

"To make you think you had to help me? That you owed me? For saving your life?" 

I noticed he didn't mention the arm. Thank god. 

"What if I _didn't_ help you, Alex? What would you do?" 

"I'd do what I had to, regardless. I have no choice, Fox." 

"Would all this end?" 

He knew exactly what I meant. 

"Not unless I got my ass killed, no." 

"Where would you send me, next?" 

"Down the Mississippi on a river boat." 

"How did you...?" I breathed, stunned. 

Alex chuckled roughly, fingers gentle in my hair. 

"How many times have I been in your apartment? You've got everything Twain ever wrote. In _hardcover_." 

"Why are you doing this?" 

"Because I want to." 

"Then that's why I'm going to help you," I told him with a shrug. 

"You don't owe me a damned thing for any of it, Fox," he murmured into my ear as my lips found his neck again. 

"Okay," I nodded with a grin at his near-silent whimper. "But I'm helping you anyway." 

"No matter what it is," he moved back and looked at me. And damn me if he didn't look... worried. 

"There are some limits," I admitted. "I haven't totally lost my ability to reason, Alex. I'm just going to have to trust you not to ask anything impossible of me." 

"Difficult, maybe. But not impossible," he assured me with a tired grin. 

"You need some rest." 

I couldn't help saying it. And waited for some crack from him. It didn't come. His nod of agreement actually startled me. He didn't argue when I unzipped his jacket and helped him shrug out of it. He just used his teeth to tug the glove off his hand while I hung both jackets over the back of the chair. I got his boots off, he removed the prosthesis, and I shoved all of it out of the way, kicked my shoes into space, and lay down next to him. 

"Tonight," he said quietly, a smile in his voice. It sounded like a promise. 

"If you're up to it," I replied, grinning. 

"Oh, I will be," he chuckled a little. "I will be." 

* * *

It couldn't have been more than about an hour. He's definitely getting better. 

He waited patiently while I figured out that there was someone in bed with me, remembered where said bed was, who was most likely to be in it, the fact that I didn't want to kill him, but never stopped kissing me. His hand was all over me and it was another instance of forcing myself to remember that he only had the one. Could've fooled me. Again. 

He pulled away briefly, just to make sure that I was as awake as I was likely to get and grinned. His evil grin. Not the Evil grin, god, no, not that one. This was simply mischievous, not diabolical. 

"I thought you said 'tonight'," I mumbled faintly, dizzy, turned on. 

"I changed my mind," he shrugged. "Assassin's prerogative." 

I snorted. 

"You complaining?" 

"Hell, no." 

"Smart man." 

God, that voice. 

We got me undressed quickly, more from a desire for speed than because I thought he actually needed any help doing it. His clothing came off a little more slowly. I got distracted. Hey, I'd like to see anyone _not_ get distracted with Alex Krycek's tongue down their throat. 

Christ. 

"We've only got a couple hours," I warned him. Yeah, like I needed to. 

"It'll be enough," he chuckled, then groaned when I touched him. I was naked, he was half-dressed and damn me if he didn't look... Jesus. Bear with me, here. Barefoot, all right? Shirt half off. Jeans undone, but still on. Underwear shoved out of my way. He looked totally debauched and we hadn't done a whole lot more than kissing and groping, for crying out loud. 

Eventually he got tired of me staring at him and worked to tug off the rest of his clothing. All of it. I think I was more of a hindrance than a help. For a while. Then I realized he might actually be stupid enough to start thinking that I didn't _want_ him naked and his clothes were gone pretty damned fast after that. 

I just kept staring. I couldn't help it. I vaguely noticed the missing limb, the same way you notice when anything's missing, but it was like... like more of an accessory than a disability. I mean, he had scars, bruises, a bullet wound. He had green eyes, dark hair, ears that were slightly pointed. And he had a missing arm. 

And a frown on his face. 

I had myself propped up next to him on one elbow and touched him. He didn't freeze, he didn't flinch, he just let me. And touched me back. Finger softly tracing the bullet wound Scully'd given me, which saved his life. He looked almost regretful. So, I licked the scar tissue at the end of his arm. And looked regretful right back. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and he nodded. We weren't even. Hell, no. But we'd established something. 

I couldn't have been happier about where we were going and was about to say something when he moved. And I was on my back. And his mouth was on my throat, my shoulder, my chest, with pleasure trailing in the wake of a hot tongue over my stomach, then came a nip on the inside of one thigh, which triggered the Pavlovian response of having me open my legs wider to accommodate him and something hot and wet surrounded my cock and, god, I wasn't expecting that. 

I really wasn't. 

He was leaning on his arm, so he could only use his mouth on me and I don't mean to make it sound like that was unfortunate, because it wasn't, not at all. If anything, it was even more intense, since that was the only part of him touching me. The only part. Just his mouth. And I wasn't thinking. 

Really. 

Like I could. 

His eyes flashed up at me when I groaned something. It might have been his name. It's not like I can remember. 

But I remember his eyes. 

I have never regretted being colorblind more than I did at that moment. Christ, how totally, pathetically, sad that that explosive shade of green should be wasted on me. 

Not completely wasted. But enough to bug the hell out of me. 

My fingers were in his hair about the same time I realized that I was too damned close to this being over too damned fast and he came up immediately when I tugged. 

"Too soon," I gasped, just as he growled, "Fuck me." 

Fuck him? Shit, I could barely _see_ him. My eyes had gone into almost total white out, complete with those little sparkles around the edges that always make night driving through exhaustion so damned entertaining. 

There was movement, and a coldness that I didn't care much for, and creative cursing coming from my suitcase, then the bathroom, then a clatter followed by a "Ha!" which would've rivaled Edison's when the light went on. And then something was slapped into my hand as a warm presence curled up at my side, turned my face toward a kiss, and began murmuring short,instructive, encouraging comments as Alex coaxed me out of the fugue and into gear. 

I dimly remember checking the tube in my hand just to make sure it wasn't toothpaste before I opened it. Cool slickness on my fingers, a brief moment to warm it and then I looked around for Alex, who was on his stomach right next to me, splayed out like some fucking sacrifice, which was probably appropriate, now that I think about it. 

And I kissed him, nuzzled the back of his neck, chewed on his shoulderblade, licked my way down his backbone and was rewarded with the most impressive groan I'd ever heard when my fingers finally got down to business. I was taking my time so as not to hurt him, but if I'd known how much fun it was teasing him, I'd have done it anyway. 

"Come on, Fox." 

Not even close. 

"Dammit, do it." 

Nope, still not there. 

"What the fuck are you trying to find in there, anyway?" 

Uh, unh. 

"Ohh, _fuck_." 

Getting closer. 

"Fox? Ohhh, god. Now. Christ. Dammit. _Now_. Please..." 

Almost. 

And then, Russian. Mixed with English. Barely. Pleas, curses, moans,more pleas, demands. Aha. 

Houston, we have liftoff. 

Condom on, check. Alex writhing, check. Alex pleading, check. Alex getting pissed off, check. And then, inside him. 

Three... 

Two... 

One... 

I have _got_ to learn Russian. 

I made my way slowly, so damned slowly, until I was... god. Good. So _damned_ good. Apparently, he agreed. And rather breathlessly, too. 

"Fucking took you long enough." 

"Everybody's a critic." 

Slow, steady, even thrusts which made me rather proud of my self-control,then the carelessly deliberate roll of his ass under me and bye-bye,control, hello, fucking meltdown. 

My hand on him. My cock in him. More Russian. 

A wail. His? Mine? Do I look like I care? 

Strangled shouts, ours, I think, scalding wet heat pouring over my hand, searing tension through the body beneath me, a clenching around my cock, like he didn't intend to ever give it back, and then, I was coming. 

Dear god. 

Dear god, was I coming. 

Shit. 

And then, silence. Mostly. Except for the gasping, the thundering heartbeat, the low groan. 

And that was just me. 

Why, you ask? 

Apparently it's difficult for Alex to speak when he's shaking so hard he can't breathe. 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story involves sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it!   
(simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Seventeenth in the Tapestry Series. You might want to read the others first, just so we're all on the same page, here. Previous stories can be found at:   
<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Weft - Perfect by Amirin [email removed] #149   
---


End file.
